


Transitions and Juxtapositions

by venus4280



Series: Harry Potter and the Auror Academy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Being an Idiot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auror Training, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Butlers, Elections, Family Magic, Final Battle, Gen, Goblins, Harry is Lord Black, Harry is Lord Potter, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horcruxes, Law Enforcement, Legal Drama, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Medical, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nobility, Prophecy, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Temporary Character Death, The Deathly Hallows, Unspeakables (Harry Potter), Wards (Harry Potter), Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 160,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venus4280/pseuds/venus4280
Summary: NEW CHAPTERS - Chapter 19 and Chapter 20  - Hear Ye, Hear Ye - Lammas - Parts 2 and 3- with a total of 18k+ words on the Wizengamot that you will hopefully enjoy! This story involving the cadet selection process, Voldemort’s defeat, and the difficulties of growing up and the risks growing apart as everyone’s future plans pull them in different directions. These pieces will be incorporated into a broader story arc that includes Harry’s Auror training and rise through the Auror ranks.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Series: Harry Potter and the Auror Academy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829518
Comments: 73
Kudos: 46





	1. Owls, Impatience, and Entrance Exams

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or its characters. This work is heavily influenced by JK Rowling’s amazing canon characterization and events, however, some elements herein will be AU. For example, in this story, Voldemort didn’t manage to take over the whole wizarding world before his defeat and no Horcrux hunt was required, so the trio remained in school for all seven years. Because of the aforementioned changes and the fact that the final confrontation with Voldemort will be a bit different, Dumbledore, Moody, Lupin, Tonks, Fred Weasley and others survive the war. This story contains some minor ‘Ancient and Noble House’ dynamics. Final pairings undecided.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting is hard, misery loves company, and the day of Harry’s interview and entrance exam for the Academy finally arrives. Part 1/AU

10 March 1998 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

A flock of birds swooped over the breakfast-laden tables in the Great Hall dropping parchments and papers in front of the students and staff. As quick as the swarm descended, the mail was delivered, with only a few of the messengers remaining to receive payment in coin...or bacon. Harry Potter looked curiously at the scroll next to his plate. Casting a few quick spells at the letter, he deemed it safe to touch... Constant Vigilance and all that. Carefully untying the red ribbon around the parchment, he read the missive, the cycle of emotions evoked by its contents scrawled across his face for all who cared to see: surprise, excitement, and concern in equal measure. 

Turning to his friends, he held up the parchment, “It’s my owl from the Ministry. They’ve scheduled my Academy test for next Thursday,” Harry quietly confided to Ron and Hermione. 

“That’s wonderful, Harry!” His best friend Hermione exclaimed, hugging him close, even as he stiffened awkwardly at her embrace. “I am so happy for you. You’ve worked really hard; you deserve this.”

Ducking his head at her heartfelt praise, Harry smiled before he remembered why this may not be the best news after all. Face set in a grim line, he exhaled before sharing his worries, “I’m not sure I should accept- I mean...what if something happens?”

"Oh Harry, no matter what rubbish the Daily Prophet prints, it isn't your responsibility as a student to protect the school or the Ministry. Go to your exam!" Hermione urged her conflicted friend.

Ron, totally oblivious to the desperate undertones of the conversation taking place just to his right, suddenly bust in, “I wonder why I haven’t gotten my letter yet?”

“Ron, focus!” The bushy-haired witch chided.

“Right...sorry, mate. Go to the test; then come back and tell me everything.”

“Ron, they make you swear a magical oath to keep the testing specifics secret,” Hermione explained, slightly heatedly. 

“Really? Wicked!” Ron exclaimed, as he returned to his breakfast, leaving both Harry and Hermione shaking their heads in fond exasperation.

*************************

18 March 1998 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The last week had proven to be quite a trial. Things were tense at Hogwarts, far in excess of what was typical for this time of year, even given the natural exam-driven frenzy characteristic of the final term. The strain apparent in Gryffindor house, however, was particularly acute. The school-wide anxiety was directly attributable to the ever growing threat of Lord Voldemort. It was not a question of if, but when, he would, as he and his followers had attempted many times before, strike the school. Even though there were more strategically important targets available, such as the Ministry, the Dark Lord's obsession with his alma mater knew no bounds.

Indeed, some said that if Voldemort had focused even half the amount of time and resources on the Wizarding world's other centers of power that he had on Hogwarts since his resurrection, Magical Britain would likely already be under his control. That wasn't to say that traditionally light families weren't attacked or that political opponents weren't subject to the occasional assassination plot, a few of which had been successful. Still, by and large, the primary pillars of the British Wizarding community remained standing and outside of Voldemort's grasp.

The dark cloud hanging over Gryffindor, however, had another source: Ron Weasley. Last Monday, Harry, Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, and Slytherin's very own Daphne Greengrass of all people had received responses to their applications for the Auror program. A few days later, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, along with many students from other houses received owls containing their interview and testing dates for various Ministry positions. Just yesterday, Ravenclaw Terry Boot and Hufflepuff Ernie MacMillan had been overheard discussing their own potential prospects within the DMLE in the corridor outside the Charms classroom. Then, not more that 5 minutes ago, Gryffindor gossip girl and Trelawny acolyte, Lavender Brown, had received her own Ministry scroll tied with its tell-tale red ribbon. Ron had had enough; Mount Weasley was going to blow.

"I can't believe I haven't received my owl yet!" Ron complained, loudly, to everyone in his general vicinity. "What do you think is taking so long?"

Neville, whose skill and confidence had grown exponentially since their fifth year, was still miffed about Ron's repeated insinuations over the last week that if he, Neville, had received a test date, then clearly the program was considering every application. In a carefully neutral tone, Neville responded to Ron's rhetorical question, "Well, the most obvious explanation is that you weren't selected for testing."

Ron considered that for a moment, before opining, "It can't be that, I mean, even Harry isn't just being given a position without having to test."

Dean, who had also been subject to some of the red head's snide comments in recent days couldn't stop himself from laughing a bit callously before weighing in, "No, you muppet, he means that the most likely reason you haven't received an owl yet is because they rejected your application." Titters of laughter erupted from various places around the table at this proclamation.

"Take that back, Thomas!" Weasley bellowed. "You know it isn't true; Hermione hasn't received any owls yet, either. Besides, if they are testing Harry, they are going to test me." A number of Ron's housemates shared looks of incredulity, was he for real? "Right, Hermione?" Ron plead, turning to the brightest witch of the age.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Hermione stammered her response, "Um...actually Ron...I..."

Before she could finish, Harry, who had been immersed in a book from Remus Lupin on warding and thus not closely following the conversation around him, came to the rescue; the pride he held for his friend's accomplishments unmistakable, “Hermione has received loads of offers from different Ministerial departments and some apprenticeship contracts as well. She's brilliant, so naturally there are a lot of people invested in what she does after she graduates." Returning to his book, Harry didn't see the impact his revelation had on his other friend.

Ron rounded on Hermione once more, his questioning tone suggesting she had somehow betrayed him, "Is that true?"

Cheeks slightly flushed, she still met his gaze head on, "Yes. But Ron, you shouldn't read anything into the fact that you haven't...you really haven't received a single offer from anywhere?" Shaking herself free from the counter-productive tangent, she plowed ahead, "Regardless, the Ministry owls have been sporadic, and I am sure you will get a reply any day now." She then shot a disapproving look down the table at her classmates before returning to her meal. Neville appeared to feel guilty; Dean merely shrugged. 

Vulnerable in a way that was highly unusual for him, because as Hermione had pointed out repeatedly over the duration of their friendship, he frequently demonstrated the emotional range of a teaspoon, Ron implored, "You really think so?"

She squeezed his hand before nodding decisively, "I know so." Just then, a large, brown owl dropped a Ministry scroll onto Ron's mostly empty plate. Laughing, she smirked at the table, "See- I told you so. Go on then, open it!" Hermione urged, elbowing Harry in the side to get his attention.

Scowling, as he rubbed the now sore spot, Harry looked up from his book to see Ron unfurling a piece of parchment with unsteady hands. His face morphed into a smile at the sight. "Don't keep us in suspense, Ron. When is your test?" Harry asked his ginger friend.

"In two weeks!" Ron crowed, relief and happiness evident in his voice.

A chorus of congratulations rang out around the table, with a few muttered "Thank Merlins" in the mix. Hermione enveloped Ron, happy for him, while Harry swung his legs around to get up from the bench so he could stand behind them, piling on to make it a group hug.

"We knew you could do it, mate," Harry said, pulling out of the embrace and clapping Ron on the shoulder.

Smiling so widely he thought his face might split with joy, Ron leaned around Hermione as Harry returned to his seat,"Remember, Harry- tell me everything about your test tomorrow," he said in a faux whisper.

"Ron!" both Hermione and Harry admonished, though all three of them wore a bright smile.

******************************

19 March 1998 - just before sunrise- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Bolting upright in the shadowed cocoon of his four-poster bed, Harry rubbed his eyes while his sleep-addled brain tried to process the tapping noise which had woken him. As he slowly gained control of his mental faculties, he realized it was Hedwig at the window next to his bed in the Gryffindor dorm. She had a letter tied to her leg. Looking around at the still dark sky, the soft rhythmic snores of his roommates in the background, Harry was very curious about who could possibly be trying to contact him before dawn. 

Harry absently petted Hedwig while opening his mail. It was a note from Remus Lupin. 

Dear Harry,  
You are carrying on a proud tradition of the House of Potter. Many wizards and witches from your line have taken the Crimson to defend Justice and serve Lady Magic with distinction. There is no doubt in my mind that you will be successful in your exams today. You have studied hard and are tremendously skilled in Magical defense. It has been an honor and my privilege to see you grow into such a strong, brave, and principled young man. I know that everyone is rooting for you today, Cub, even those who are only with us in spirit. I am so unbelievably proud of you.  
All My Love,  
Uncle Moony 

Truly touched by the man’s thoughtful gesture, Harry’s heart swelled with affection as he re-folded the parchment.

Deciding that he might as well get a start on his day, Harry showered and shaved. Wrapped in just a towel, he critically surveyed his wardrobe options. He knew he wanted to be comfortable, as he anticipated there would be both written and practical portions to these exams. However, he also wanted to make a good first impression on his (hopefully!) future employers and colleagues. Eventually, he selected a loose fitting pair of dark trousers, a forest green button-down, and a black day robe with green at the collar and cuffs. He figured it would be alright to wear his black trainers, fairly confident no one would even be able to tell they weren’t dress shoes. With growing anxiety, he dressed quietly before heading to the Great Hall for some breakfast. 

There were only two other students, both Hufflepuffs, eating this early; although the staff table was more than half full. He nodded up at Professor McGonagall, who looked as immaculate as ever, sipping her tea and making small talk with Professor Vector. After some toast, eggs, and strong black tea, Harry checked his pocket watch and decided it was time to start preparing for his departure. He had his wand and the parchment with his assigned room number. He reached inside his robes and withdrew the letter from Remus. As he re-read it, warmth filled him and helped fight off some of his nerves. Refolding it, he tucked it carefully in the inner breast pocket of his robes, right over his heart. Now he just needed to brush his teeth and see what he could do about his hair. 

Staring balefully in the mirror in the boys loo, he gave it up as a bad job; maybe people would think he styled it that way on purpose...or that he didn’t own a comb. There was nothing he could do about it either way. Re-checking his watch, he saw that it was time for him to head for the Ministry.

Thinking about everything and nothing as he walked through the halls, he was startled to find himself in front Professor McGonagall’s door so soon. Resolving pay more attention to his surroundings going forward, he tentatively entered the Professor’s office. Despite the fact that she had still been sitting on the dais when he left the hall, Harry found her inside behind her desk, seemingly marking Transfiguration essays. When he had asked for permission to leave the school for his exam last week, McGonagall had offered to let him use her Floo connection to get to the ministry. Harry was grateful for her assistance. When he thanked her, she had waved him off, reminding him that during his Fifth year she had said she would do almost anything to help him achieve his career goals. At the time, she had assumed her pledge would involve more than just lending him a little Floo Powder. Looking up from her papers, she asked, “Are you ready?”

Harry cleared his throat to respond, “I think so.”

Professor McGonagall gave him a genuine smile, her eyes a little misty as if perhaps she was remembering another messy-haired young man on his way to his Auror Academy entrance exam. “Do your house proud, Potter. I will accept nothing less. You are more than capable.” Leaning in before she could think better of it, she gave him a quick hug before stepping back. “Here you go,” she said, holding out the pot of Floo powder. He took a healthy pinch of the silvery substance and threw it into the fireplace. As he stepped in and clearly stated his destination, she called after him, “Good Luck!”

*****************************

19 March 1998- 8:22AM- Ministry of Magic, London

Harry stumbled into the Main Ministry atrium, spit out from the fireplace, a rumpled, ashy mess like always. He couldn’t help but gawk a bit as he tried to brush off his robes. It was chockablock, with witches and wizards rushing here, there, and everywhere, and parchment memos in the shapes of airplanes and different birds darting overhead; the peacock blue ceiling inlaid with mutable golden symbols serving as an almost heavenly backdrop to the bustle. 

Harry’s progress toward the security desk halted as his gaze caught on the group of golden statues halfway down the entrance hall that composed the so-called “Fountain of Magical Brethren.” Unable to completely conceal his disgusted reaction to the Ministry’s larger-than-life monument to blatant and pervasive racism, his shocked revulsion was interrupted by a wizard sitting behind an imposing marble counter clearing his throat, “Can I help you?” he inquired, beckoning Harry over.

Forcing himself to focus, Harry moved forward and responded, “Yes. I am here for...”

“Step over here,” the man interrupted before passing a thin, gold rod up and down Harry’s front and back.

“Wand,” the security wizard prompted with a grunt. 

“Right,” replied Harry, removing his wand from its wrist holster before handing it over, slightly taken aback by the man’s brusqueness. 

The wizard dropped the wand onto a brass scale-like device, which vibrated before spitting out a narrow piece of parchment from a slit in its base. The security officer tore off the slip and read it in a bored voice, “Eleven inches, Phoenix-feather core, been in use for 7 years. Is that correct?

“Yes,” Harry confirmed before the security wizard impaled the parchment on a small brass spike and returned his wand to him.

“Thank you,” said Harry politely as he repositioned his wand in his holster. 

“Hang on,” the wizard called, before Harry could head toward the golden entrance gate. “You need a badge.”

Suppressing a groan, Harry hoped it wouldn’t say anything too humiliating like, ‘Nervous Nellie’ or worse, ‘Gormless Idiot,’ as he extended his hand to take it from the desk officer. Bracing himself for the inevitable, he was pleasantly surprised and more than a bit relieved to discover that it simply read, “Harry Potter, Auror Applicant.” 

Taking a moment to pin the square silver badge to his robes, Harry nodded to the surly security officer who appeared to have just realized exactly who he had helped clear through the Ministry. Merlin help him, there really were fanboys everywhere. Making his way quickly to the line of witches and wizards queuing for the golden gates before he could be asked for an autograph or something equally ridiculous, Harry spied the guard surreptitiously pocketing the parchment bearing his wand details. He vowed to obtain a secondary wand as soon as possible as he finally breached the inner sanctum of the Ministry; as usual, slightly overwhelmed at the wide array of colors and fashions that adorned his fellow Magicals. Finally reaching the smaller hall inside the gates, Harry entered an elevator covered by a large intricate grate of gold. He immediately took a position in the back right corner of the lift as he ascended from the bowels of the building. After passing the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes on Basement Level 3, he arrived at his destination: Level 2- home to the DMLE and Auror Headquarters. 

Pulling a square of parchment from a side pocket in his robes, Harry studied the room number he had been given as he passed an open area divided into cubicles. A feeling of excitement bubbled in his stomach as he took in the pictures of wanted wizards and Daily Prophet clippings plastered on the walls. This was where he hoped to be sitting in a few months time. Tearing his eyes away from the scarlet-robed figures chatting and studying reports, he spotted a sign listing his destination; it was directing him to go left and then through a set of heavy oak doors. 

This was it. Suddenly very nervous, he wiped a sweaty palm on his dark robes before turning the heavy iron handle on the door labeled ‘Applicant Testing’ and stepping inside. 

To his surprise, as he knew more than 20 minutes remained before the scheduled start time, there were already about 15 other people in the room, including Daphne and Susan. The group was diverse, with a much broader range of ages than he had expected, though he acknowledged in retrospect given how competitive selection for the corps was it had been silly for him to assume his competition would all be other students or recent graduates. 

As he took a seat, he noted that many of the aspiring recruits were sitting quietly, perhaps meditating or mentally reviewing material. Some, however, clearly knew one another and were laughing and joking with ease. Harry sensed a bit of irritation with the latter group, but no one voiced anything openly. He waved at Susan, who returned his greeting with a smile and wave of her own. He thought she had also mouthed ‘good luck,’ but it was difficult to tell from across the room. He smiled at Daphne, and the Slytherin acknowledged him with a regal nod of her head. He idly wondered how the two witches had arrived at the Ministry; perhaps their own heads of house had aided them as McGonagall had with him? That seemed likely for Sprout, but he was having trouble imagining Snape helping even one of his Slytherins get to an Auror testing session on time. He suspected Greengrass had been forced to make her own travel arrangements. 

Abruptly pulled from his musings, Harry straightened in his chair and directed his attention to the front of the room as a tall, brown-haired wizard with piercing hazel eyes slammed the door to the testing room and swept up the center aisle before turning to address the group. 

“Good Morning,” he said, his clear baritone easily carrying in the space. He looked expectantly at the applicants, gesturing in an exaggerated manner to prompt the class to return his greeting. Some individuals hesitantly replied with a good morning of their own. Appearing pained at the paltry response, he scolded them. “That was wretched, people...come on! If that is all you’ve got, you might as well leave right now.”

Several aspirants looked horrified as the large wizard began laughing. Confusion seemed to be the predominant mood of the crowd as the man continued to chuckle to himself. Before long, a few of the assembled witches and wizards started to look angry, though most were merely apprehensive about what the man might do next. “My apologies,” he said, composing himself, “but honestly, you should have seen your faces. So...can we try that again?” 

Observing nods all around, he greeted them again, “Good Morning!”

This time he received a resounding, though not entirely enthusiastic, “Good Morning!” in response.

Clapping his hands together once as he perched on the corner of the desk at the front of the room, he introduced himself, “I’m Senior Auror Bedevere Williamson, and I will be your test proctor and one of your interviewers today. As I hope you already know, the Auror Corps is an elite unit of highly trained specialist officers with a prestigious history that goes back over 250 years in Britain. The Muggle Yanks have a saying about their Marines: ‘The Few, The Proud.’ That is exactly who we are and who all of you want to be. I promise you, it will not be easy.”

Williamson rose from the desk before continuing, circling the room as he explained the tests of knowledge, character, and aptitude they would be undergoing that day. “After a highly competitive selection process, Auror Cadets receive three years of intensive training at the Academy where they learn to investigate crimes related to the Dark Arts and how to apprehend dark magic practitioners. To give you some perspective, we are interviewing around 100 applicants this year. No more than 30 of you will make it to the Academy, and only 10 of that group will make it beyond the first year of courses; it is unlikely that all 10 of those cadets will graduate into the Auror program.” 

While several of the prospective candidates looked surprised that so few of their number would actually end up becoming Aurors, others nodded knowingly, as if perhaps they or someone they knew had washed out of the program previously. Some applicants appeared determined to be one of those special 10 who would be commissioned in the corps. For his part, Harry didn’t know what to think but was suddenly worried that his measly 9 OWLs wouldn’t be enough and that he should definitely take Remus’ advice about sitting the Muggle Studies NEWT later in the year in order to round out his academic record .

Interrupting the applicants’ panicked calculations, Williamson proceeded to outline the testing process. “Today, we will begin with a written exam which you will have exactly 60 minutes to complete. After that, each applicant will be interviewed by a panel including myself, the Commandant of the Auror Academy, and Senior Field Auror Rowena Russell. Once those have been completed, you will end your day with a practical exam and a set of casting exercises. You will not receive your admission decisions until all applicants have been assessed, which could take several months.” He paused for a moment to ensure everyone understood what was expected of them, “Any questions?” The room remained as silent as a crypt. In fact, some members of the group looked like they would rather be buried alive in a crypt than in the room.

Opening a large metal filing cabinet behind his desk with an intricate series of wand movements, Senior Auror Williamson retrieved a large pile of parchment and quills which he began passing out to the applicants. “These have all been spelled with extensive anti-cheating protections, and the only quills that will write on these exam papers are the self-inking ones I am providing to you now. The quills are also imbued with robust anti-cheating charms. Further, anyone caught cheating or attempting to cheat on this written test or any portion of today’s exams will be immediately arrested and put in a Ministry holding cell before being tried for fraud before the full Wizengamot, is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir!” They responded in unison. 

Confirming that everyone had a copy of the test and a working quill, Williamson announced the start of the exam. “Remember, you have 60 minutes to complete the test. I will call out at the 30 minute, 15 minute, and 5 minute marks so you can monitor your progress and adjust your pace as needed. You may now begin.”

The rustling of paper could be heard throughout the room as Bedevere Williamson sat quietly behind his desk and observed the witches and wizards frantically scribbling down answers as the minutes ticked away. 

Harry found the first few questions remarkably easy as they focused on basic knowledge of dark and defensive spells as well as dangerous creatures. He was starting to relax when he reached the first legal question: “What clause was added to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1750, and what did it make the responsibility of each of the ICW’s constituent ministries? What is the punishment for failure to uphold that clause? “ As he had absolutely no idea about the specifics of any of the Statute of Secrecy clauses, or even how many clauses it had, much less which clause had been added in 1750, Harry decided to skip that one. 

Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t even considered brushing up on the legal code in the Magical world, despite the fact that he was applying for a posting within the Department of Magical “Law” Enforcement. Worse, the question about the Statute of Secrecy had been the first in a series of exam items concerned with things like mandatory minimum sentences for various wizarding crimes and other facets of criminal and civil code. Harry was forced to guess at the answers to most of these questions. Finally, in a section seemingly centered on significant Wizengamot rulings, there was a question for which he definitely knew the answer: “The use of which spell during DMLE or affiliate raids without demonstrated probable cause and a warrant signed by a Justice serving on the Council of Magical of Law was deemed to constitute an ‘unreasonable search and seizure’ in Fremont Weeks vs. The Ministry of Magic in 1914?” He wrote ‘Accio’ in large letters with a smile on his face as he turned to the next page of parchment. 

Harry’s brain felt like mush by the time Williamson announced that only 15 minutes of the allotted exam time remained. Having completed every other question on the test, he returned to the only item he had left blank in his initial pass. He didn’t know the number of the clause, but he did know that the Statute had been adopted after the witch burnings and persecutions in the States around 1700. After more than fifty years, it was likely that many addendums and clauses had been added to the original document. Searching for a sufficiently high but not ludicrous number, he settled on ‘80,’ because it was his birth year. Given the nature of the Statute, he guessed that individual Ministries had been made responsible for hiding their own magical enclaves and creatures. Finally, he reasoned that since the ICW’s response to almost everything was either a strongly worded condemnation or sanctioning, that sanctions were a good bet for the answer to the punishment portion of the question. He quickly scribbled his response before laying down his quill with a flourish.

Hearing Hermione’s voice in his head, Harry wisely used his last five minutes to re-read his exam, carefully proof-reading and double-checking his answers. The questions had covered a broad range of material from case law to spell usage to battle tactics, incorporating scenario-based essay items asking about things like what an Auror should do if they find themselves in a pitched battle with dark magic practitioners casting Unforgivables, or if they or members of their team are injured and outnumbered while attempting to serve an arrest warrant. Just as Harry finished reviewing his last answer, Williamson called time.

The Senior Auror quickly collected the parchment and quills from the examinees, taking the entire stack out of the room to presumably be graded and ranked. He returned after only a few minutes and announced that the next phase of applicant processing was commencing. “We will be calling your names at random. When you hear your name, you will come to the door and wait for a panel member to escort you to the interview room.” 

Flipping through what appeared to be a muggle notebook, Williamson selected his first victim. With some relish, he put a large check mark in the book, grinning up at all of them as he read out the name “Apollo Rabnott.” The tall, blond man rose from his seat, looking incredibly nervous. He walked slowly to his fate as many of the other applicants regarded him with a combination of pity and envy. However, just as soon as Williamson rose to chaperone him out of the room, all hell broke loose. 

To Be Continued ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and Acknowledgements: I don’t own Harry Potter or its characters. The scene where Harry enters the Ministry in this chapter is heavily influenced by content on Pg. 126 - 136 of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, American Edition. Some of the information below about Magical Law, Aurors, and Auror training was also derived from the Harry Potter Fandom Wiki.


	2. Entrance Exam - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s Entrance Exams continue. Talk about a day that will never end!  
> Part 2

~Previously...”As soon as Williamson rose to chaperone him out of the room, all hell broke loose.”  
***

19 March 1998 - 10:05am- Applicant Testing Room, Ministry of Magic, London

Black shapes emerged out of thin air all around the room; they were wizards wearing hooded cloaks and masks to obscure their faces. One of them yelled, “Take out the Mudbloods first!” as spell fire erupted in every direction, leaving nearly half of the recruits stunned, or worse, within seconds. 

Despite a momentary flashback to that horrible day in the Department of Mysteries nearly two years prior, Harry wasn’t idle. With reflexes born of quidditch training and more than his fair share of Magical Combat, he brought forth an impressive shield that deflected several incoming spells back at the attackers as he kicked a nearby table on its side to serve as physical cover. Dragging several applicants who were within reach behind his make-shift shelter, he initiated a powerful chain casting sequence that stunned or disarmed three enemy combatants before targeting the wizard who appeared to be leading the assault with a reducto to his wand arm, scoring a direct hit. 

Jumping into the fray, Susan Bones forcefully banished the debris created by her alternating Bombarda and Defodio charms at the masked figures. At the same time, Daphne Greengrass launched a series of fiery Confringos, the resulting cries of pain testimony to both her aim and the effectiveness of her strategy. Bolstered by their collective success in driving back the invading force, more aspiring recruits added their magical firepower to the mix. Thus, despite having the element of surprise, the academy applicants’ greater numbers and increasingly entrenched positions, soon forced the attackers to take their wounded and flee.

As soon as they were gone, Harry cast an overpowered Cave Inimicum on the entrance, aware that it would only buy them a small amount of time. He then conjured his patronus and sent the silvery stag to deliver an urgent message to McGonagall and Dumbledore at Hogwarts. His activities garnered quite a bit of interest from the other occupants of the room, though most quickly focused their attention elsewhere as soon as he turned to face them. Striding purposefully across the space, Harry surveyed the battle damage, naturally slipping into a leadership role. As he went around casting a variation of the impervious charm on furniture in the room so it could be used to shield them if the Death Eaters returned, he directed the others to start doing repairs and to revive and heal their less fortunate colleagues. While several grumbled at being dictated to by a teenager, the ones who had observed his performance during the fight encouraged the naysayers to keep their objections to themselves.

Meanwhile, Susan leaned over Senior Auror Williamson’s prone and bloody form, reporting that their test proctor was still alive but badly injured. She looked up at Harry as he knelt beside her and the fallen Auror. “This doesn’t look good,” she solemnly evaluated. “They probably deemed him the biggest threat and concentrated on taking him out first.” 

Before Harry could murmur his agreement, Daphne joined the pair. “They were clearly mistaken on that front and paid dearly for their assumption,” the sandy-haired witch intoned, smirking. “By Merlin and Morgana!” she swore. “Have you been keeping all that under your robes this whole time, My Lord?” She coyly inquired, her eyes raking appraisingly over Harry as she plopped on the floor beside them. With pink cheeks, he ignored the Slytherin and helped Susan try and staunch Williamson’s bleeding. It looked to be a lost cause. 

Echoing Harry’s thoughts, Susan despaired, “If we don’t get him real medical assistance soon, he isn’t going to make it.” 

“Well, we can hardly levitate him through the corridors to the infirmary,” Daphne scoffed. “We have no idea what is going on out there.”

“You’re right,” Harry assented. “What if I perform a healing spell?” He raised his wand, thinking Vulnera Sarentur was the only one he knew that might be strong enough for this level of damage.

“No,” both Daphne and Susan immediately protested, staying his hand. 

He looked expectantly at the two witches. “Unless you actually know what you are doing, My Lord, you are likely to do more harm than good,” Daphne clarified.

“Okay,” Harry conceded, though he was clearly reluctant to not at least attempt something. “What if we could portkey him to the infirmary?” he tried again, waiting for their objections. 

Susan looked thoughtful. “Given the wards in place there, the Ministry infirmary likely hasn’t been compromised.”

Daphne concurred, “Even allowing for the fact that they plainly sent junior Death Munchers to dispatch us, I find it highly unlikely that any member of a group that mounted such a pathetic effort would be able to take down those wards. And, even if they could, it would be a high-risk and time-consuming operation for little to no gain. Bottom line, if they are stupid enough to try it, they almost certainly won’t have the skill to pull it off.”

“Will these wards also make it difficult for us to get him there?” Harry probed.

“Yes,” Daphne answered, discouraged, at the same time that Susan reached under her robes and pulled out a gold medallion necklace. 

“Not if we use this!” she informed them triumphantly. At their questioning looks she explained, “It is from my Aunt Amelia, and it will allow whoever is wearing it to portkey through Ministry wards like the ones surrounding her office or the infirmary.”

Daphne looked appalled at the security implications, “Does it work on all the Ministry’s wards?”

“I don’t know,” Susan replied uncertainly, “but I know it will work for the infirmary.”

“That’s good enough for me,” acknowledged Daphne. “Now let’s do this before this poor sod bleeds out on us.”

“Daphne!” Susan admonished, while Harry tried to stifle a laugh.

“Please,” Daphne sniffed disdainfully, “He is supposed to be a ‘Senior’ Auror, and he lasted all of 10 seconds in that skirmish. My baby sister Astoria can out-draw this wanker.”

At this pronouncement from the protocol-conscious pure-blood, Harry could no longer contain his amusement, despite their dire situation. It was therapeutic, however, as both witches joined him and the tension of the morning seemed less oppressive with their laughter.

All business once more, Harry stood to find a suitable item to serve as a portkey. Immediately fifteen pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction; the natives had obviously become restless during their brief interlude with Williamson. One of the older applicants who was nursing a head wound appeared to have made an unsuccessful attempt to breach the magical barrier he had placed on the door. Clearing his throat, Harry addressed the room, “We are working on sending Auror Williamson to the infirmary...” Before he could finish, a cacophony of questions and demands were hurled toward him. 

“Let us out of here!”

“How are you getting him to the infirmary?”

“What are we going to do now?”

Daphne got to her feet behind him and shouted them all down. “Quiet!” she ordered, “Lord Potter,” she continued with a disapproving glare, emphasizing his title to them, “was trying to determine who was in need of medical assistance before you interrupted him, you uncivilized gits!”

Shaking his head at the Slytherin’s antics, he watched as several recruits were chivied forward by their peers, including both Apollo, the first applicant slated to be interviewed, and the wizard who had run afoul of his ward. None of the injuries appeared to be too serious, but he gestured the handful of self-identified applicants toward Williamson regardless. “We are going to portkey you through the infirmary wards. Susan,” he went on, pointing to the buxom red head who waved at the group in acknowledgement,”has a talisman that is critical to the success of this effort.” He could tell that at least a few of them recognized her as Amelia Bones’ niece. “I don’t want to interfere with the medallion, so I am going to use something else for the portkey itself.” 

“That’s illegal!” decried one of the recruits, but Harry just shrugged. 

“If these don’t qualify as extenuating circumstances...then I’ll accept whatever punishment is handed down.”

As Susan cast an augeo on the cord attached to her medallion to make it long enough to encircle Williamson and all five applicants, Harry briskly removed the lace from Williamson’s left shoe and softly incanted, “Portus.” He was satisfied that the spell took since the lace glowed a bright blue before returning to its normal brown. Having previously affixed the desired destination in his mind through a light touch of Legilmency with Susan’s permission, Harry was confident the item would work as intended. He confirmed everyone had a hold on the lace, cast a sticking charm to ensure the unconscious Williamson did not let go of the Portkey in transit, and then activated the device. One problem down.

“Listen up!” Harry called out, gaining everyone’s attention. “I sent a message for help about 15 minutes ago, but I don’t believe we can afford to wait any longer.” Several people were nodding along, so he continued. “I think we should divide into groups and make our way to the most likely targets of this attack, thinning the enemy lines as we go, if we can.”

“What can we do?” wailed one witch, “None of us are properly trained, we’re probably all going to die!”

Harry started to try and comfort the distraught recruit; she didn’t look more than a few years older than the 7th years, although Harry didn’t recognize her from Hogwarts. Daphne obviously did, however. “Pull you yourself together, Fawley!” She might have muttered “you ridiculous bint,” under her breath at the end, although as Harry was coming to realize, that would constitute a rather mild slur for the brown-haired witch. 

“We’re sitting ducks in this room. I doubt the barrier I placed will hold much longer or under any kind of dedicated assault; we are one magical grenade away from certain disaster,” assessed Harry grimly. 

He observed the remaining applicants as they processed the situation. A few looked scared, but most looked resolute, committed to doing what was required; unsurprising, as all of them were here because they wanted to become Aurors. Pushing forward with his hastily developed plan, he announced, “You lot will be responsible for securing Minister Scrimgeour,” gesturing to the group of five on the left side of the room, one of whom was the overwrought witch, Fawley; she appeared to be deeply regretting her life choices at the moment. Pointing to the group of five on the other side of the room, he said, “Your goal is to get to Head Auror Robards. I believe his office is quite close to our current location.” 

Before he could continue with the last assignment, a pretentious wizard sporting a severe widow’s peak and bushy eyebrows broke in, “Just who do you think you are to be telling the rest of us what to do?” His badge indicated his name was ‘Oberon Wright.’

A pretty, dark-haired witch from the group set to go after the Minister, ‘Araminta Varma’ according to her name tag, immediately jumped to Harry’s defense, “That’s Harry Potter,” she all but sneered at Oberon, who clearly hadn’t been paying attention to Daphne when she had told them all off a few minutes ago. 

Doing a double-take which might have been humorous under other circumstances, he surprisingly replied, “Oh...well, carry on then.”

“Right,” Harry resumed, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck and appearing to have just realized that he had in fact been ordering them all around like it was his job from the beginning. Oh well, needs must. “That leaves Director Bones for the three of us,” referring to Susan, Daphne, and himself. “If anyone has other suggestions, please speak up,” he finished, ceding the floor. 

There was no overt dissent, as the groups began planning for their respective missions amongst themselves. The unmistakable sounds of fighting outside the room hastened their preparations. A loud explosion followed by shouts and screams signaled that it was time to act, whether they were ready or not. 

It was agreed that since the team heading to the Minister’s office had the farthest to go, they should depart first. To aid with stealth, Susan organized disillusionment charms for everyone. Pairs could be seen rapping each other firmly on the head with their wands, leaving nearly a dozen indistinct shapes in the exact color and texture of the room in their wake. Harry stilled as a Susan-shaped-chameleon tapped her wand sharply against the top of his head, the distinctive cold trickles of the charm running down the length of his body. He in turn cast on Daphne, who shuddered at the sensation. “Your Magic...it’s like being struck by lightening,” she explained at his concerned look, sounding slightly winded. He didn’t understand but nodded in acknowledgment anyway, grateful that she had neglected the honorific for once. He started to apologize, but thought better of it. Slytherins were weird.  
***  
Ministry of Magic -Level 2 - 10:42AM

Five prospective Aurors: Eloise Fawley, Regin McDonald, Bayard Lewis, Aelfdene Martin, and Araminta Varma were making their way silent and disillusioned through Level 2, or at least that was their intent. Araminta and Bayard had suggested charms to block their scent and silence their footsteps, but they learned the hard way that a broad-spectrum silencio made it nearly impossible for them to hear each other unless they were in exceptionally close proximity; a state they could not safely maintain while on the move. Most of the fighting appeared to have shifted elsewhere, but evidence of spell damage was all around them. Their objective was to secure the Minister’s office on the floor above. Unfortunately, the bank of lifts near the main Auror bull-pen was the only way to move between floors on this level of the Ministry. Indeed, the only stairway in the entire building that any of them knew about was useless to them as it connected the Department of Mysteries on Level 9 with the Ministry courtroom complex on Level 10. 

As they approached the heavy oak doors that stood between them and the lifts, Eloise started whimpering. They would be uniquely vulnerable as they piled through the doorway, simultaneously alerting the enemy to their presence while momentarily limiting their ability to maneuver and fire without hurting one another. Still, risks aside, they had to open the door if they were to complete their task. 

Whispering so as not to prematurely give them away, Aelfdene Martin stated, “I think we should take the door down with force.” As four disillusioned magicals turned sharply in the direction of his voice, he continued quickly, cognizant of their time constraints, “Hear me out,” he begged, “If they’re out there, they are going to know we’re coming through no matter what we do.” He presumed the others nodded, though it was impossible to tell. “This way, we have an opportunity to take out any DEs that are stationed nearby, but most importantly, we clear the way for the groups behind us. Opening the door may give us away, but we can make sure it isn’t a factor for any of them if we do this.”

Bayard and Regin immediately agreed. Araminta praised his thinking and suggested that some of them use Reducto while the others use Depulso on the door to maximize its shrapnel radius. Eloise just nodded, barely controlling her hysteria. On the count of three, the solid double doors exploded outward in a shower of sparks, splinters, and wooden projectiles. 

Two hooded figures went down, though it wasn’t immediately clear if it had been the force of the concussive blast or something more deadly that had incapacitated them. Unfortunately down did not mean out, as one of the Death Eaters recovered quickly enough to disable both Fawley and Bayard Lewis. As more masked enemies appeared on the scene, Regin, Aelfdene, and Araminta were left with no choice but to leave those two behind and continue toward the lifts and the Minister’s office. 

By mutual unspoken agreement, the three remaining recruits opted for speed and stealth over offense. As they neared the rows of cubicles, the buzz of activity from that morning markedly absent. Were they all out there fighting the invaders? Regin, with his longer stride, was leading the group. It was difficult to make out, but he appeared to be gesturing for them to stop. He pointed toward the bull-pen. Araminta caught sight of at least three crimson cloaked bodies visible on the ground and gasped. Immediately covering her mouth lest she inadvertently reveal their position, she couldn’t help but wonder how many were dead. Trying not to think about it, she set her teeth and resumed her march. It seemed more important than ever for them to get to the Minister. 

The team finally reached the lift, surprised that the only way in or out appeared to be unmonitored. That seemed too good to be true, but they certainly deserved a stroke of luck. Araminta took watch, as Aelfdene pushed the button to summon the car. Regin shot two quick silencing charms at the elevator so that neither the bell announcing the arrival of the lift nor the voice system announcing the floors drew unwanted attention. Just as they were sure they had made it, they felt the hot trickle of the Disillusionment charm being lifted before they knew no more.  
***  
Meanwhile - Ministry Infirmary - 10:34AM

The group of six injured people were pulled through the wards, with Williamson miraculously landing perfectly centered on a cot as the others slammed into the ground with varying degrees of grace around him, still clutching the shoe lace and tangled in the medallion. Shell-shocked and windswept, they found themselves being held at wand-point by four green-robed healers and a patient on a nearby bed sporting a bandaged shoulder. The applicants, several of whom were worse for wear after the portkey, held up their hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Where did you come from?” asked one of the healers, eyeing the medallion, while colleagues ran diagnostic spells on the injured witches and wizards. “Auror Williamson is badly hurt,” Apollo blurted out, still panicking slightly at the unexpected turn of events.

“We were attacked by Death Eaters!” added another.

“You’re safe here,” soothed a matronly witch, extricating the group from the ribbon and portkey as two of her colleagues began rapidly casting spells on the downed Auror. “We are on lock-down, and all DMLE elements have been called to assist,” she informed them as she quickly ushered them to another part of the infirmary. “Don’t worry, this will all be over soon,” she was heard to say just as they entered the wards surrounding the other area, cutting off all sound. 

The two healers stepped back as Bedevere Williamson sat up on the cot, cursing as he held out his palms for one of them to release the sticking charm gluing the shoe lace to his hands. The first two release attempts failed, as the healer muttered, “whoever cast this must have really wanted to make sure you didn’t let go.” Finally, the combined efforts of the two healers managed to free him. 

Williamson chuckled as he re-laced his shoe, acknowledging, “They were a rather determined group.” He stood and began shedding his bloody robes, lifting the illusions of profuse bleeding and grotesque wounds as he went. After shrugging into a clean over-robe, he turned to the man on the next bed. “How did you end up in here, Savage? I thought you supposed to be leading the assault team.” 

“I was,” Senior Auror Dylan Savage groused, “but one of those little bastards in your recruiting class nailed me.” He took a deep breath which caused him to grimace and reflexively cup his wounded shoulder with his good hand, “I had layered my personal shield over the portable shield in my cloak.” 

Williamson shot him an intrigued look, and Savage obliged, explaining, “It’s Unspeakable Tech, works almost like armor. They’ve successfully tested it against the Unforgivables, for fuck’s sake.” He shook his head, “The healer said that without the double shield it probably would have taken my wand arm.”

Williamson whistled, “But you’re okay?”

“Yes,” Savage confirmed, “I just have to try not to use it for about a week.”

Williamson winced in sympathy and then asked, “Which one was it? I was already playing dead by then.”

“Uh...scrawny kid with glasses. Looks like he has never heard of a comb?” 

“Harry Potter,” Williamson supplied.

“Really?” Savage seemed somewhat mollified. “Impressive...even if he does look about 14.”

Williamson laughed.

“How did get you here, anyway?” Savage inquired, “this place is warded to the gills.”

“Team work, ingenuity, and perseverance...exactly what we are looking for in our future Auror Corps,” Williamson revealed. “I have participated in this exercise more than 30 times since I joined the Recruitment Division, and most of the time the applicants don’t even check to see if I am alive. No group has ever managed to portkey me to medical treatment.”

“Naughty, naughty!” Savage scolded, grinning, “Who made the illegal portkey?”

“Potter,” he responded, “aided and abetted by Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass, though he was the one who actually cast the spell.” Seeming to recall something that had slipped his mind, he added, “And Greengrass called me a ‘wanker’ who couldn’t out-draw her 15-year-old sister.”

Savage exploded in laughter, “I have got to see that in the replay.”

“Lest you feel left out,” Williamson goaded, “She characterized your attack as ‘pitiful’ and clearly the work of JV ‘Death Munchers’ - her words.” 

Savage frowned, appearing moderately offended before snarking, “So, Mr. Rulebook, are you going to fine Harry Potter for his illegal portkey creation?”

Yes,” affirmed Williamson,  
waiting for the inevitable outburst. Dylan Savage was an excitable sort; he did not disappoint.

“What?!” Savage sputtered, “Bedevere, he thought he was saving your life, you ungrateful berk!”

“I know. I just want to see how he reacts. Consider it part of the character test.”

“I definitely want to hear what that sassy chit - Greenglass, was it?” “Greengrass,” corrected Williamson. Savage nodded, “What Greengrass will have to say about it...and Madam Bones, as well.”

Briefly rethinking his plans at the mention of the tougher-than-dragon-hide Director of the DMLE, Williamson paused before confidently concluding, “Moody will have my back.”

“Your funeral, my friend,” Savage teased. 

Unconcerned, Williamson shrugged and changed the subject, “Let’s see how they are all getting on, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he flicked his wand at a large screen on the opposite wall. 

They heard the tail-end of Alastor Moody’s critique as they watched two Magical Law Enforcement Patrol officers on loan for the simulation exercise stun three Academy prospects near the lifts and transport them to one of the large holding cells on Level 2. Williamson wondered what they had been doing by the elevators. Had they been trying to escape? They hadn’t struck him as particularly cowardly. Before he had any more time to ponder the motivations of Varma, Martin, or McDonald, one of the smaller picture squares in the background display was magnified as it flashed to the forefront of the projection.  
***

To be continued ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and Acknowledgements: I don’t own the Harry Potter franchise or its characters. The descriptions of Death Eaters attacking and the application of the Disillusionment Charm in this chapter are heavily influenced by content on Pg. 637 of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Pg. 54 - 60 and Pg. 781-786 of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, American Edition. Some of the information about various spells and their effects was also derived from the Harry Potter Fandom Wiki.


	3. Entrance Exam - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of Harry’s Auror Academy Entrance Exams. No real Death Eaters were harmed in the making of this chapter. There are a number of perspective shifts throughout this section. I experimented with Rich text but probably won’t do so again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings- this chapter contains a little bit of salty language (Aurors and Slytherins, what are you going to do, am I right?)

~ Previously ..." Before he had any more time to ponder the motivations of Varma, Martin, or McDonald, one of the smaller picture squares in the background display was magnified as it flashed to the forefront of the projection." ~

_** 19 March 1998 - Level 2 - Ministry of Magic, London - 10:55AM - immediately following the events of Part 2 ** _

About 10 minutes after the first team had departed, Harry, Daphne, and Susan were preparing to leave.

Turning to the remaining group on their way out, Harry advised, "Give us at least 15 minutes before you start off. I don't want to have to worry about friendly fire when we go on the offensive."

Daphne looked intrigued by the potential scale of the magic to which he was alluding. Susan remained focused on their mission; she would be leading the team as the one most familiar with the terrain and their destination.

After exchanging goodbyes with their new comrades, the trio set off down the corridor, single file, with Susan at the front and Harry bringing up the rear. They each cast silencing charms on their shoes and other sense-blocking spells designed to prevent animals or people from detecting them through scent and the like. As Harry halted their progression to try and convey something with hand signs, Susan rolled her eyes and performed a complicated series of movements with her wand. At the last twist of her wrist, Harry felt a vacuum-like seal 'pop’ in place around them. In her normal voice she explained, "Now we won't have to play charades. We will be able to hear each other as long as we stay within about a meter radius, but no one will be able to hear us unless they get inside the bubble." The other two were suitably impressed.

"Handy," Daphne complimented. Susan just nodded.

Delighted to be able to communicate verbally, Harry told them, "I would like to cast a spell on all of us that will circumvent  _Homenum Revelio_ ." Turning to Susan, he asked, "Nothing I do in this bubble will disrupt it, will it?"

"No, I don't think so, why?"

"The uh... effectiveness of this spell is directly proportionate to the strength with which it is cast," he explained.

Immediately catching on, Daphne hypothesized, "So, if someone were to cast  Revelio with more power than you put into this spell, it might work, despite the block? Ergo, you need to pour sufficient power into your own casting so that such a thing isn't possible..."

"Exactly!”  he confirmed, happy she understood.

"I am sure it will be fine," Susan replied, though she looked uncertain.

"Ready?"

At their nods, he cast. The power in the air pressed down on them, feral and beautiful, wave after wave. It made the hair on the back of Susan's neck stand on end, and she could detect the scent of ozone lingering around her. 'Daphne was right,' she mused; it was a bit like how she imagined it might feel to be struck by lightening. Looking to her right, she thought the other witch appeared similarly affected, though both shook it off quickly. The three of them were now well disguised, would be immune to the most commonly used revealing spell, and their communication bubble had remained intact.

Susan directed a meaningful look toward Daphne, willing the other witch to keep her mouth shut about the experience and not say anything to fluster or embarrass Harry before they went into battle; this wasn't the time for unnecessary distractions. The brunette apparently got the message, as she drew her wand and assumed her game face without a word.

Like the group before them, they observed evidence that attackers had already been this way: broken glass littered the hall, and the doors and walls were covered in scorch marks. Susan informed them that her Aunt's office was on the opposite end of Level 2 from their current location. They needed to traverse the entire floor plate, making their way through the Auror Department, past the lifts, and beyond the Improper Use of Magic suites. The office of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement was down a small corridor to the left of the Wizengamot Administrative Services Department entrance.

They soon approached the point where the main Auror area intersected with the hall of training rooms they had just traveled. The three of them paused in shock at the wreckage. It looked like a bomb had gone off; the heavy double-doors that previously separated the spaces lay in pieces around the room, and they could see two red-robed figures unmoving on the ground by the windows.

** _Meanwhile - Exam Observation Room- Ministry of Magic_ **

"What the  fuck ?!" Moody yelled at the Aurors around him, clomping around the room to ensure the ones dialed in from other locations also felt his irritation. "We just lost audio! What did Bones do?"

"Sir, it is difficult to be certain because they are disillusioned, but it looks like she performed a standard communication bubble spell."

"Amelia has a lot to answer for," griped Moody. "Can we break through?" He demanded.

"Yes... sir, just give me a few..." the forensic tech began before another string of profanity cut him off.

"What the  bloody buggering fuck did Potter just do? That registered on the bloody  Mage scale of the Ministry's Thaumaturgical Meter."

A tech wizard examined the device in question, referred to colloquially as the T-meter. It was still buzzing and flashing in response to the spell cast by the raven-haired Auror candidate.

"The people in the field are reporting that they felt it, Sir," a witch wearing the blue robes of the tech crew added.

Just as Moody was about to resort to hexing the people in the room, the audio filtered in.

**_Team 2 - Battle Exercise_ **

" Homenum Revelio ," Daphne incanted. Checking the results she calmly divulged, "There are at least five people laying in wait for us between here and the Auror bull-pen."

"Non-Lethal spells only," Harry warned.

" What ?!" both Daphne and Susan turned to him affronted, surprised to find they were in agreement.

"Look, something doesn't feel right about this," he confessed, running his hand though his already messy hair. "Plus, some of those people," he continued, gesturing vaguely to the bodies scattered about, "may just be injured. We need to be careful. Just,  please ," he begged them, "Don't cast something you can't take back."

"While I personally subscribe to the philosophy that ' the only good enemy is a dead enemy '...if it will ease your bleeding heart, My Lord, then your wish in this is my command," Daphne acquiesced immediately.

Susan was more reticent, "If they fire anything lethal at me, then they get what they deserve," she declared.

And that was why people didn't generally mess with the House of Greengrass or the House of Bones, Harry thought privately. To them, however, all he said was, "Thank you, I know it is more than I have any right to ask either of you."

**_Exam Observation Channel_ **

"Blood thirsty," Savage's voice rang out over the channel, "I like it. Though, he's a bloody  Boy Scout ."

"You should be grateful for that, Savage," Moody chastised over their comm link, "Or you might be missing your head."

Everyone on the channel could see Dylon Savage's red face, though whether it was from anger or embarrassment was anyone's guess.

**_Team 1 - Unidentified Holding Cells - 11:10AM_ **

"Ugh," groaned Regin McDonald, shaking off the last vestiges of a well-cast stunning charm, limbs tingling and head still swimming as he dragged himself into a sitting position. "I feel like I've been trampled by a Hungarian Horntail," he announced to no one in particular, taking in his cold, stone surroundings and stirring cellmates.

Regin's brief soliloquy served to fully wake Aelfdene Martin from his spell-induced stupor. Finally at least partially vertical, he propped himself weakly against the wall of the barred enclosure. "I guess we didn't make it to the Minister's office," he pronounced dully, fear and grief clawing at his insides.

The last of the three to rouse but the first to her feet, Araminta Varma immediately noted that there were only three of them; the two members of their team who hadn't made it to the lifts were missing.

Following Araminta's train of thought, Regin asked hopefully, "Do you think they were captured, too?"

Before she could respond, Aelfdene bluntly declared, "Unlikely. We should focus on getting out of here and assume they are dead unless we learn otherwise."

Araminta stared him down with sharp brown eyes before offering him her arm to help him stand. "Aren't you a regular ray of sunshine?" she cracked out of reflex.

A little defensive, as he stretched in an effort to ease his stiffness, he retorted coldly, "I am just being realistic . I know better than most what they're capable of.”

As Regin merely observed their verbal sparring from his semi-sprawled position on the floor, she inclined her head toward Aelfdene, recalling that his father and younger brother had both been murdered in attacks last year. "And yet, here we are," she couldn't help but point out.

Tense silence stretched between them until the pair decided to take pity on Regin, working together to pull the tall wizard to his feet.

"Okay," she finally said, as everyone finished getting their bearings. "On the positive side, we are being held together, and they didn't put us in magical suppression cuffs or any other type of restraint."

"On the  negative side," countered Aelfdene, "they took our wands and locked us in a very secure prison in an unknown location."

Regin piped up, "We are still within DMLE spaces; this is one of the holding rooms in the Auror Department where they keep suspects before trials or before transporting them to Azkaban."

"How can you be sure?" Aelfdene questioned, skeptically.

Flushing, he revealed, "I  really  want to be an Auror. I have been to every recruitment event the department has hosted over the last year. I remember seeing that,”  he pointed to a crudely drawn alchemical symbol scratched into the stone on the back wall of the cell, "when they gave a tour of the interrogation and holding rooms during an open-house earlier this year. It struck me as odd, so I looked it up when I got home. It stands for 'Antimony,' which is a name I have heard in a few pure-blood circles. Figured someone had left a little graffiti calling card."

"That's brilliant!" Araminta praised. Even Aelfdene looked chuffed by the discovery and its confirmation, cracking a brief smile in Regin's direction.

"Now that we know where we are, what can we use to get out of here?" Araminta asked more to herself than the group.

Feeling optimistic for the first time since seeing the hooded and masked figures break into their room that morning, Aelfdene inquired, "I don't suppose either one of you is an animagus?"

Araminta shook her head, but Regin excitedly responded in the affirmative before visibly deflating. "I am...but I don't think my form will be much help to us."

" Well," Aelfdene prompted impatiently, "What is your animal?"

"A three-toed sloth," Regin replied, transforming for them.

He was abnormally large for the species, which was not surprising given his relative bulk and height in human form. He sported a rounded head, blunt nose, and small ears. Like his normal hair, Regin's fur was more auburn than a sloth's typical grayish-brown coat, though he did share the pale face and dark brown fur at the throat and forehead characteristic of the animal. The most notable features for their collective purposes, however, were the long, curved claws at the end of each of the three fingers of both his forelegs.

"Try picking the lock with your claws; your arms look thin enough to fit through the bars so you can work at it from the outside," Araminta advised.

Nodding his head, the sloth began to make its way incredibly slowly across the floor of the cell. Aelfdene swore, "At this rate it will be evening before he even makes it to the door! Plus," he pointed out, as if having only just noticed it himself, "there is no locking mechanism on the cell door."

Embarrassed, she could see Aelfdene was correct. At this dead-end, Regin transformed back into a wizard. "What else have we got, then?" he questioned, undaunted.

"I can't believe it !"Aelfdene all but shouted.

" What ?" The other two asked in unison, both confused and more than a little concerned at the somber wizard’s outburst.

He reached into his boot and pulled out a short, obviously Goblin-forged, blade, holding it up for the others to see. “They didn’t find this when they took our wands.

"Do you think it can cut through the bars?" Regin inquired.

" Maybe ," Aelfdene responded, his mind clearly focused on other possibilities.

Araminta speculated, "It's likely that the bars are made of equally strong metal, or at least spelled to be resistant to this type of damage. Still, it doesn't hurt to test the theory." She turned expectantly to Aelfdene.

He obliged, sawing away at the bars with his knife. The sound was horrific; it had surely caught the attention of anyone tasked with guarding them. Worse, it didn't work. The bars remained pristine and appeared completely impervious to the blade. "Damn," he muttered.

As their situation seemed increasingly hopeless and perilous, Araminta haltingly offered, "I can sometimes do a little wandless magic, only simple things, mind you, but...," she trailed off to see what the two wizards were thinking.

Catching on, Aelfdene shared, "One of the reasons goblin-steel is so sought after is its ability to absorb and anchor magic. It isn't the ideal magical focus, but it can theoretically be used to cast a spell or two, especially by someone who can perform magic without the aid of a wand." He passed the knife to Araminta, hope shining in his eyes. "Go on then, get us out of here!"

_** Team 2 - Battle Exercise ** _

The enemy forces were tired of waiting for the trio, so they fired a few spells in their direction in an effort to draw them out. The three Hogwart’s students quickly took cover between the few desks that remained standing after whatever had happened earlier. They needed to stop messing around and get moving.

"Susan, you and Daphne go; I've got our backs," Harry urged.

Susan nodded decisively as the two witches began methodically picking their way through the debris, hunkering down every few meters. Harry followed behind them, poised to strike.

Out of nowhere, a wizard in full Death Eater regalia appeared in front of them firing an impressive volley of spells that Harry was largely able to shield them from or deflect back at their attacker. Tired of the conservative approach, Daphne jumped up and cast  calvorio . The man screamed in pain as she yelled, "Take that, you racist pig!"

Not satisfied with whatever damage she had inflicted, the Slytherin proceeded to kick their foe in a few rather sensitive places as Susan stunned him and Harry divested him of his wands before casting ' Incarcerous .' Daphne was about to kick him again, when Harry sent a full-powered stunner at the man before pulling her away.

"Don't worry, he ah...probably won't be waking up from that without help," Harry reassured her. What was that spell you used?"

Daphne looked exceptionally satisfied with herself as she answered, "Well, given your restrictions, I had to get creative.  That ," she paused for effect, the malicious smile on her face not detracting from her profound beauty, "was a full-body hair removal spell. He'll be sore for  days in places he barely even knew existed."

Susan laughed, while Harry looked a bit green.

**_Exam Observation Room - Ministry of Magic_ **

"She's vicious," Korval, the Academy dueling instructor who had been invited to sit in exclaimed with poorly concealed admiration.

"I know," Moody replied with more than a little glee, "Can I keep her?"

Those in the room with the Commandant shook their heads at the pair.

Becoming more serious, Moody dispatched a group to retrieve Proudfoot and take him to the infirmary as soon as the trio cleared the area. "Potter wasn't kidding about his stunner, and that was after Bones had already hit him with one. He'll need a healer...and a cup. I don't know what that fool was thinking going against them like that without back-up."

_** Team 2 - Battle Exercise ** _

The confrontation continued, and as the recruits hit their stride as a team, it was a massacre. Not literally, thanks to Potter, but a poor showing for the DMLE overall, even if many of the participants were senior cadets and MLE patrol officers rather than fully vested Aurors.

The trio's take-down technique would be the envy of any Auror squad: Greengrass tracked, Potter stunned and disarmed on her count, and Bones tied them up, occasionally stunning them a second time for good measure. The teens sometimes hid and disillusioned their attackers afterwards so they wouldn't be easily found and revived by their allies. Moody suspected such steps were part of Potter's concessions to the witches, since he wasn't permitting them to take their enemies permanently out of play. The aging Auror had already commented to his staff that given today's results and the current political climate, they wouldn't be doing anymore live exercises like this. These were war-time recruits, so while he far preferred human ingenuity and unpredictability to spelled simulation rooms for testing, it was clearly too dangerous to continue at this time.

The group had already collected more than a dozen wands through their efforts. Moody had observed Potter keeping a few apparently compatible ones for himself as well as passing others to his companions. The kid must have some talent for determining that sort of suitability since both witches had willingly accepted the wands he had offered to them. He noted approvingly that Bones snapped the remaining wands; if none of them could use them, no one would.

Daphne had just used some kind of sticking charm on the floor, maybe colloshoo or some variation on epoximize, before casting a knee reversal hex. The victim was a 3rd year cadet who was assisting with the exercise. He screamed in agony, unable to take the weight off his legs because of her first spell; his last thought before losing consciousness was that no amount of extra credit was worth this.

Potter gave Daphne a look as he released the cadet, reversed her hex, and then stunned him into next week. Picking up on his disapproval, she responded in a mild tone, "You said I couldn't kill them, My Lord. You didn't say anything about maiming or mild torture, things I assure you these dark twats richly deserve."

"She has a point," Susan commented, disarming the cadet and binding him with more force than strictly necessary; that one definitely wasn't going anywhere.

Harry shook his head, clearly both Slytherins  and Hufflepuffs possessed hidden depths and disturbing qualities...these two did anyway.

_** Exam Observation Channel ** _

"Be still my heart," Moody said to the group, genuine affection coloring his tone.

"That's it, draw up the papers...Moody wants to adopt her," Senior Field Auror Rowena Russell announced to the room.

"Wait a  minute!"  said Savage in response to Moody's comment, "I didn't think he had a heart."

Williamson agreed, "Yeah, I thought he had it surgically removed when they fitted him with the eye."

**_Team 3 - Objective Chief Auror's Office - Level 2 - Ministry of Magic - 11:27AM_ **

The final team that burst on the scene included: Aislinn O'Connor, Ambrose Taylor, Celestia Roberts, Astrid Clarke, and Oberon Wright. Unfortunately, any hope they had of leveraging their stealth in concert with the distraction provided by the others to quickly make their way to Head Auror Robards' office shattered when Astrid, a half-blood employed as a regulator for the Floo Network Authority, tripped over some of the detritus littering the field and crashed into a set of shelves, loudly spilling their contents to the floor. The group might still have been able to achieve their objective and remain undetected given the battle raging around them, but for Ambrose shouting at her clumsiness in a temper. His voice carried across the room attracting unwanted attention; soon a dozen spells were speeding toward them.

Though the trio were busy with their own enemies, Harry had turned at the noise, just in time to see several of their fellow recruits cut down by spell fire.

"I am going to see what I can do to help them," he told the witches, darting toward the other skirmish.

Susan grunted in acknowledgement as she cast everte statum followed by a descendo to bring everything in the cabinets above crashing down on the death eater she was battling. In the melee, she also managed to petrify, disarm, and restrain two more within 20 seconds.

**_Exam Observation Channel_ **

"She's pretty lethal for a Hufflepuff," Savage pronounced.

"Ruthless efficiency, just like her Auntie," chimed in Korval, his respect for the DMLE director evident to all.

"Not like the other one," asserted Savage with a shudder, "She plays with her food."

Before any of the examiners could offer further commentary, the T-meter started going crazy again. The assembled wizards and witches looked up at the recently magnified view to see an ominous red wall of magic come from the direction of the lifts. Both groups of applicants were clear of its path, but it cut a destructive swathe through the masked figures between them, dropping them like flies in an instant.

"What was that?" Williamson demanded, his face white in shock.

"A wide-area stunner, used for crowd control," Moody responded, mouth twisted into what approximated a grin on his mangled face.

"Er...isn't that usually cast by teams of like six?" Savage inquired hesitantly.

"Aye, but Potter's late grandad used to do the same, to soften the ground for us, so to speak, during Grindewald's War." Moody trailed off, no doubt reliving some macabre glory days in his mind. "I loved that man," Moody announced.

Relieved that it was benign and never letting an opportunity to have a go at his paranoid boss pass, especially when he had a receptive audience, Williamson asked, "Did Mrs. Moody know that?"

Reminiscing curtailed, Moody deadpanned, "What makes you think she didn't approve?"

Williamson looked gobsmacked.

”Oy," hollered Rowena Russell, gaining everyone's attention, "First, Moody's married to the job, there is no missus. Second, from what I've heard, Dorea Black was not the sharing type. So, can we get back to our evaluations, please?"

"Yes, Ma'am," came the chorus of replies as they focused their collective attention back on the simulation. In the intervening period, Potter had rejoined his group.

"I missed it," Williamson admitted, "Did the other group make it to Gawain's office after Potter saved them?"

"No. It would be funny if it weren't so pathetic. As soon as they started toward the bull-pen, like a herd of hippogriffs, those two MLEPers hanging out by the lifts stunned all five. The auror candidates just stood there like deer on the motorway," Korval reported in disgust.

" What ?" asked at least three pure-bloods on the link. Moody made a notation on his parchment to reach out to the supervisor of those Patrol officers; that group had comported themselves well today.

"Never mind," the instructor sighed, "They froze. The only one who even tried to get away was Clarke, and she tripped over her own two feet before she made it out of range."

"What a shame," lamented Russell, "Celestia Roberts' brother is a good Auror." Those familiar with his work nodded in agreement.

As they watched the three 7th year students make their way to their objective like seasoned soldiers, it was was hard not to be a little dazzled by their fluidity and professionalism, as well as how effectively they worked together as a unit.

Potter was a leader, but he had no problem deferring to others or doing what he was told. None of them were slouches in the power department, but Potter had been in a class by himself even before his Family Magic had settled the previous year. He was obviously their heavy hitter. Moody was a firm believer that every team should have one, though he had noted that the younger wizard tended toward shields and more defensive spells in the heat of the moment. They would have to work on that; an Auror couldn't always take out a dark wizard with a disarming charm, after all.

Bones was versatile and efficient, favored team tactics, and maintained an exceptionally clear head in a fight. She too would make a good squad leader, though he wasn't sure how strong she was in strategy. Regardless, she could learn. It was evident that she had received a wide range of Defense training from a very young age, and just as clear that her primary instructor was in law enforcement.

Greengrass was more of a maverick: quick on her feet, creative, and brutal when left to her own devices. She followed orders surprisingly well, however, especially from Potter. She also seemed to ...enjoy her work. Moody personally liked having an Auror or two who derived real satisfaction from the job. Speaking of...

Savage cringed, "I have never seen a Bat Bogey Hex do that..."

"Did she add an  _oppugno_ _to_ that?" Korval asked, he seemed to be taking notes.

Savage winced, "She's  scary. "

"Stop being ridiculous, she's a 17 year-old witch," chided Russell.

"I wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley is all I'm saying," Savage defended himself.

"But you would want to meet Potter...in a 'dark alley,' that is?" she asked, scoffing.

"Not really, no, but at least he'd have mercy on your soul; she'd eat your soul and then bathe in your blood."

Russell harrumphed, "Now you're just being rude. If she were a man you wouldn't be saying that about her."

"It's got nothing to do with whether she's a witch or wizard, Rowena," Williamson said, entering the conversation. “Also, under all that power, Potter's a softie," he concluded.

At that very moment, Harry dropped one of the attackers like a stone, firing a spell from clear across the floor plate and nailing the attacker in the head like a sniper. The spell had made an audible sound when it connected. 

"You were saying?" Russell prompted, smugly.

Too shocked to rise to the witch's bait, Williamson stood, "Merlin's balls!” Did you see that?!"

"That was some next level shite..." Savage declared, not bothering to conceal his awe.

"That was some ICW hit-wizard Level shite," Korval agreed.

"I hope it was a stunner..." Russell said, sounding slightly worried; Dawlish had gone down hard.

"Even if it was...that's going to leave a mark," commented Williamson, though he didn't sound too broken up about it. It was no secret that the two didn't get along.

More than a little concerned about John Dawlish, Moody called a halt to the exercise. "It's over. They made it to their objective." He paced around, magical eye rolling menacingly in its socket. "Some of you had your arses handed to you today by three kids who haven't even sat their NEWTs. I have half a mind to send a few of you back to the academy and deputize them in your places. Get a medical team out there to handle the casualties," he barked.

"And, Williamson," the Commandant called over the channel as he turned to leave.

"Sir," the Auror acknowledged.

"Meet me in front of Director Bones' office, now."

"Roger, Sir. I am on my way."

_** Office Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement- MoM- Level 2 ** _

Susan, Daphne, and Harry raced through the door. Harry secured it behind them, sealing the ward with a rigorous flick of his wand. Amelia Bones stood from her desk, in mild shock for several reasons, not the least of which was her niece nearly knocking her over with the force of her hug. "Aunt Amelia, I am so glad you’re safe!" Tears were streaming down the young red-head's face, but she was far from hysterical.

"Susan, what is wrong?" she asked gently as she hugged her daughter in all but name close. "Why would I be in danger in my own office?"

"Auntie, Death Eaters have invaded the Ministry, we need to get help!" Susan insisted.

"It's true, Madam Bones," Daphne added, "We fought off a significant number to get here, and since someone," she turned to look at Harry over her shoulder, so that it was obvious to everyone precisely who that someone was, "wouldn't let us deal with any of them appropriately, they could all be heading this way with re-enforcements as we speak. I would very much like to use your Floo to contact my father, if it wouldn't be too much trouble," she added demurely.

"Voldemort is not with them," Harry reassured the director, as she continued to regard the bedraggled teens with something akin to sympathy.

"Please, sit down," the DMLE Director encouraged, conjuring another chair for Harry. They all looked about to protest, when she held up her hands to stave them off, quickly explaining, "I'm afraid you all just participated in the second part of your Auror Entrance Exams."

" What ?!" came the disbelieving cry from the two witches. Harry looked less shocked than the others, but no less shaken by the intensity of the experience.

"It was a simulated battle..." began Madam Bones.

"Forgive me, Madam," Daphne interrupted, her voice polite but steely, "but that was no magical simulation."

"My apologies for being imprecise," Susan's Aunt continued delicately, "I merely meant to convey that it was a staged exercise, not a real invasion. Your opposing numbers were dressed as Death Eaters, but they are all actually employees of the DMLE: Aurors, Senior cadets at the Academy, MLE Patrol officers, and field personnel from other DMLE departments."

"That was a test!" Susan was outraged.

Daphne looked a little ill, but appeared to be adjusting to the news. She turned to Harry, "How did you know?" There was no accusation in her tone.

"I didn't, not really...only," he faltered, "I've fought Voldemort's followers before, and this wasn't quite the same." He ran his hands through his hair, a revealing habit Daphne had observed multiple times that afternoon. "As I said when we started, something didn't feel right to me. I couldn't pinpoint it, but honestly there weren't enough Unforgivables being tossed around; and other than Auror Williamson, there wasn't much blood. That...um, hasn't generally been my experience in these sorts of situations.” 

Susan definitely remained the most distraught, and Daphne couldn't help but think a few uncharitable thoughts about Hufflepuffs, even if she had felt Susan to be a very capable partner on the field today. “Merlin...do you think Williamson was an accident?" Susan asked.

"No," Daphne answered immediately. "It must have been some kind of glamour to shake us up right off, take out the person we would naturally look to in a crisis, and ensure that we took it seriously...that we would genuinely be afraid for our lives. As sensitive as I know you are to such things, My Lord, I am surprised you didn't pick up on that right away."

He was reassured that Daphne was over her shock since she was back to his title. Not that she had appeared rattled, of course, she took her role as a Slytherin very seriously and prided herself on her unflappable reputation at school. "Aurors weave so many spells into their robes that, in my distraction, I dismissed it all excess shielding and protection charms," he admitted.

She nodded at the explanation and then exhaled, looking him directly in the eye, revealing a few cracks in her facade. "I am grateful that you didn't let me really hurt anyone today," she said softly.

Proving that despite her upset at the situation she was as hearty as the others, Susan hopped in with perfect comedic timing, "Well, there was that one instance of extreme manscaping."

They all burst out laughing, and Amelia smiled at them, despite missing their inside joke.

"I'd best get you back to Alastor," Madam Bones informed them.

"I should have known Mad-Eye was behind this sadistic trial," Harry vented, quietly.

"He is the Commandant of the Auror Academy," Amelia Bones stated flatly, surprised at Potter's clear familiarity with the grizzled Auror.

Harry flushed, "Of Course, Ma'am, I meant no disrespect."

Turning to the door, she said, "Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear. Alastor, Williamson, I promise I won't let Susan stun either of you despite what you put them through today." She gestured to the pair, "Please, come in."

"We would if you didn't have a great bloody ward on the door designed to dismember anyone trying to get inside," he protested.

She sent a meaningful look in Harry's direction, and he quickly dismantled the ward. "You know," she commented casually, "it is supposed to be impossible to just add your own wards on top of the ones already in place in here."

"Is it?" He inquired weakly.

Susan jumped to Harry's defense, "We were pretty desperate when we got in here. I am sure he wouldn't have been able to do it under normal circumstances."

Harry nodded in agreement, after all, there hadn't been any kind of resistance from the existing wards, which he assumed was not typical. It had to have been due to the fact that his emotions had been running high.

She didn't look like she believed them but seemed willing to let it go for now, though she did make a note in her diary to have the Goblins examine and update the protections on her office. No teenager should be able to hijack her wards, even if he was the boy-who-lived; they were clearly overdue for maintenance. In fact, she should have the whole floor done and suggest Croaker do whatever they do about their wards in Mysteries during their next staff meeting as a precaution.

Once Moody and Williamson stepped through, Amelia told them she had been planning to escort the teens back to the applicant room. "They can come with us, Amy," Moody assured, "We know you are a busy witch."

Just then Williamson stepped around his boss and handed Harry a folded piece of parchment. Seeing the relieved looks on all their faces, which he knew were because he was safe and whole, he almost couldn't go through with it. "What's this?" The messy-haired wizard asked curiously.

"The citation for your illegal portkey this morning. You can pay the fine downstairs as you leave today."

Harry nodded, "Of course," thankful to hear it wasn't something worse.

Susan looked like she might start breathing fire, but Daphne took the situation in hand.

The brunette witch turned to Harry, curtsying elegantly, "My Lord, if I may," she paused for his approval, and at his nod she continued, rounding on Williamson with a glare that a Basilisk would hide from, "As the head of two Ancient and Noble houses, you can tell him to fuck right off as you make a portkey out of every thing in this room, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it." She curtsied to Harry again and stepped back in her place.

Moody laughed and started clapping slowly, "You tell him, lass!"

Harry looked at her incredulously, blushing heavily. Daphne was curious which part of her performance was causing the reaction. Her coarse language? Blatant disrespect of authority? She resolved to find out so she could do it again at the earliest opportunity. 

Williamson seemed shocked, though to his credit, he took the parchment back and gave a shallow bow before ripping the citation in half and pocketing it in his robes.

"Shall we?" Moody proposed, waving for Williamson and the three recruits to follow.

As they walked back across the floor plate, which the teens were relieved to note no longer resembled a war zone, Harry quietly imparted to Daphne, "Thank you for uh...intervening back there. You didn't have to, but I appreciate it all the same."

After confirming that the two Aurors walking with them were occupied with each other, Susan inserted herself into the conversation. "You were magnificent, really, but aren't you afraid Williamson might hold it against you in his evaluation?"

Daphne appeared entirely unconcerned about any potential repercussions for her 'spirited' defense. "First off, I was right. Lord Potter is exempt from that ridiculous regulation, and Williamson seems to be a fair sort. Most importantly, however," she confided to the others, "Auror Moody is the primary decision-maker as Commandant of the Academy, and I had him eating out of my hand." Casually tossing her hair over her shoulder she admitted, "It was a calculated risk to be sure, but one I feel comfortable having made."

Harry wore an indulgent smile, while Susan shook her head in a mix of disgust and admiration. Finally Susan shrugged, turning to Harry as if to say, ' what are you going to do? ' — "Slytherins- am I right?" she concluded, and they all laughed.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer and Acknowledgements: I don’t own Harry Potter or its characters. Some information about spells and their effects was derived from the Harry Potter Fandom Wiki. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to linuxrocs for being the first to bookmark this story and to xkcdBlackHat for leaving the first non-guest kudos. Thank You!


	4. The Truth Shall Set Them Free (Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4- Interview decisions are being made, and the longest day in history is nearly over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited July 27; This chapter is the 4th installment detailing events from the day of Harry's Auror Academy entrance exams.

~Previously..."Slytherins- am I right?" she concluded, and they all laughed."~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***19 March 1998- Auror Applicant Room - Level 2 - Ministry of Magic, London 12:05PM**

Harry, Susan, and Daphne arrived with Moody and Williamson just moments after Savage had entered with a few red-robed cadets and the five prospective recruits who had spent most of the exercise in the infirmary with him. "Dawlish, Proudfoot, and Cadet Davidson are all still unconscious and under medical observation," Savage reported, his injured shoulder preventing him from snapping to full attention.

"At ease, Savage," Moody ordered, acknowledging the information. The wounded Auror couldn't keep his gaze from drifting to the trio responsible for that situation as he took the seat Williamson had saved for him.

Less than two minutes later, Senior Field Auror Rowena Russell and two other DMLE employees walked in with the three applicants who had been captured and detained in a holding cell trailing behind them like ducklings.

Finally, Korval and four MLE Patrollers escorted the remaining seven academy aspirants into the room, their demeanors notably more subdued than those of their fellow candidates.

"I think that's everyone," Moody affirmed, surveying the crowd with both his magical and mundane eyes. "Academy applicants!" he bellowed.

They all straightened reflexively, but only a few replied, "Sir!"

Williamson cut in, "Commandant, I am afraid this lot isn't very good with group responses."

Moody grinned savagely, "I am sure they will get the hang of it in no time, once they have the proper motivation."

Facing the group, Moody informed them, "Recruits, it is time for you to go to lunch. You have about an hour to eat before you need to be back here for a general discussion of today's practical exercise and your interviews. Dismissed."

No one wasted any time escaping the oppressive room.

****************************

Examiners' Critique - 12:15PM

"Okay, let's do this people; the clock is ticking. Which of these applicants do you think should be interviewed and considered for academy placement? Don't be shy," Moody emphasized, speaking directly to the senior cadets and MLE Patrol officers who had taken part in the exercise, "I want everyone to say their piece, as the perspective on the field is different from the one in the observation room." There were nods of understanding all around him.

"Cleopatra and Parina have finished grading the written exams, so we will have that data to consider as well," Korval added for the benefit of the group, acknowledging the efforts of his fellow Academy instructors.

"Let's start with the infirmary group,” Moody proposed, pulling five applications out of the haphazard pile in the middle of the table.

Savage took the lead, though he recognized the three 3rd Year Cadets with whom he had conducted the exercise's opening salvo. “Sir, we deliberately sent our first few spells wide, since we did have the element of surprise. We weren't actually trying to take anyone down in our initial volley, although one candidate..." Savage trailed off as he searched his memory for a name.

"Apollo Rabnott," supplied Williamson from across the table.

"Right," Savage continued, "Apollo was unfortunately both standing and positioned close to the door when we attacked, so he was stunned immediately despite our efforts to avoid it."

Cadet Davies tacked on, "He hit his head on a nearby desk as he fell, and one of the female applicants, with long blonde hair?" He turned to Williamson for the name.

"Eloise Fawley," the test proctor furnished, unable to disguise his contempt.

"I can see you have feelings about that candidate, Bedevere," Moody stated dryly. "We'll come back to her in a minute." The Senior Master Auror nodded for Davies to continue.

"Fawley stepped on his hand in her attempt to escape the spell fire," he finished.

"Broke two of his fingers," Savage confirmed, having received the medical reports for each of the recruits treated that day.

"And the others?" Moody prodded.

"Nothing else too significant medically speaking: minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises only, except one wizard had a concussion," reported Savage.

Williamson was quick to clarify, "That was Boris Jones, and he brought that shite on himself."

"Explain," demanded Rowena Russell.

"He tried removing the protective barrier spell Potter put on the door...and it fought back. Served him right, since he should have talked to the rest of the group before potentially endangering them all in his ill-considered escape attempt. Plus, his comments, which you can listen to in the penseive recordings, show that his is not a team player and frankly mark him as a real prat. I veto his application with prejudice," Williamson announced to the group.

"Korval," Moody demanded, "What were his written exam scores?"

Studying the parchment in front of him, the instructor replied, "Bottom half- 12th out of 18."

After a vote, Boris Jones became the first rejected application of the day.

"There were three more, correct?" he queried.

"Sir," Williamson began, "my assessment, though I am certainly willing to hear other viewpoints, is that with the exception of Rabnott, who had broken bones and was bleeding from a head wound, the other candidates who portkeyed with me to the infirmary," Williamson paused as some expressions of confusion and disbelief broke out amongst the group; apparently not everyone was privy to Bones' and Potter's morning escapades, "were scared and looking for a way to get out of the front lines."

Several of the magicals around the table nodded in agreement, but a couple looked uncertain. "Scores?" Moody requested.

"Apollo Rabnott was 10th overall, but the others were near the bottom. Only one other applicant scored lower today."

"I recommend we put Apollo in the 'maybe' pile," Williamson proposed. At the surprised look from Cadet Thompson, he clarified, "Despite being in pain himself, he made sure the healers were aware of my injuries and started working on me as soon as we arrived in the infirmary. As for the other three,” he continued, "I vote we reject them. They didn't distinguish themselves in any way today and arguably demonstrated both a lack of nerve and concern for their fellows that I believe is incompatible with the values of the corps."

"All those in agreement?" Moody called, recording the number. "And all those opposed?" He paused before pronouncing, "By majority vote we will set the fate of Apollo Rabnott aside, but formally reject the applications of Connors, Reid, and Sanders."

Flipping through a few scrolls, Moody asked, "Savage, Cadets, do you have anything else you would like to share about your engagement?"

Cadet Chakraborty stood to address the assemblage, "Sir, even considering that our initial spells were merely warning shots, we were able to incapacitate more than half of the room's occupants within the first few minutes. Most of them took several seconds to react to the situation, typically a flight response, and that just wasn't fast enough. Potter and Bones, however, immediately went on the offensive."

Cadet Thompson interrupted, "No, Bones and Greengrass went on the offensive, but the former's aim was clearly impacted- at least at first- by her positioning behind a desk. Potter was on the defensive. Shielding, creating shelter, and pulling other candidates to safety when they stood there like lemmings in the cross-fire."

"And yet," Russell couldn't help but goad, "you were all on the run within seven minutes, injured or otherwise incapacitated."

"Ma'am," Davies acknowledged, "When Potter did join Bones and a few of the others in offensive fighting; it was over. His chain casting was a thing of beauty, and it rallied the other recruits. Anyone still standing started firing back at us from fortified positions; we had no choice but to retreat after he took out Team Leader Savage."

"What happened, Savage?" Moody inquired, gesturing to the other Auror's bandaged arm. "I thought you were supposed to be wearing body armor to lead the frontal assault."

"I was wearing it, but his blasting hex got through anyway. Don't look so surprised people," admonished Savage, "He set off the Department's T-meter twice today. I think I've only seen it light up like that one other time in the last 10 years."

One of the MLE Patrol officers spoke up for the first time, "Sir, isn't Potter a danger to others with power like that?" She seemed fearful of the implications.

Moody made eye contact with Williamson, who dipped his head in understanding. "Patrol Officer Hodgkins, isn't it?" the Commandant questioned, making a line through her name on his parchment. "In my considered opinion, Potter demonstrated commendable restraint throughout this exercise. At no time today- including during his confrontation with Savage- did he or his magic appear out of control. If anything, his hesitancy to bring his full skills to bear is something we will have to train him to overcome, lest it become an issue. He could have injured Auror Savage far more gravely or taken a kill shot, but he did not. I am fairly sure I would not have been so measured in my response in his place."

She lowered her eyes, obviously feeling miserable about speaking up, "I see, Sir."

"What about the first group to leave the room, the ones who got banged up in a Ministry holding cell by two Patrol officers?"

"Sir," spoke up Williamson.

Moody gestured for the other Auror to speak, "You have something else you would like to say?"

"I would be remiss not to mention what Potter, Greengrass, and Bones managed in the room before that team departed." Seeing he had their attention, he continued, “I strongly encourage you to review the recording; I guarantee you will find it instructive. Before portkeying a group to the infirmary..."

"Illegally," coughed Savage under his breath.

"About that," Williamson divulged, slightly embarrassed, "apparently it's perfectly legal for the Head of an Ancient and Noble House, even an under-aged one. As I was saying, the three of them displayed strong team work. They listened to each other and solved difficult problems. Potter hid the entrance to the room and managed to contact Hogwarts..."

"What?! How?" Korval challenged.

"Some kind of Patronus messenger," Williamson recalled.

"Bullshit"

There was rampant skepticism amongst the group. "I got the Floo call from Albus Dumbledore checking on the situation myself," Moody reported, putting an end to the debate.

"Anyway, Bones made sure I didn't succumb to my 'injuries,' disillusioned everyone, and kept them on track. Potter divided them into teams and assigned them missions based on their collective analysis of the three most likely targets of a Ministry raid. He was like a born squad captain, and Greengrass served as his mean XO. As you can imagine, all the recruits fell in line." There were a few chuckles from those who had observed Greengrass' unique style throughout the day.

Clapping once to regain everyone's attention, Moody pushed the group forward. "Okay, Team 1...they had the hardest objective since they couldn't readily get to the Minister's office without taking the lifts. As we had numerous people staked out at the only public egress, it was always going to be an uphill battle."

Rowena picked up the narrative from Moody, "Let's start with the good. They worked effectively together both when they were fighting and when they were trying to orchestrate a prison break. They knew and applied several standard stealth charms right away and built and improved upon each others' plans like any good team, despite having never met one another before today. I was particularly impressed with Aelfdene Martin's thought process and selflessness with regard to their door breach and his ability to convince his teammates of a plan that they initially opposed. He was smart, prepared, and focused throughout.

"That bloke needs a nickname, though, stat," Savage cut in. "I vote for Elf, but I could be persuaded to Aelfi."

Ignoring the Auror, Korval added his own assessment, "I agree that Martin...or Elf," he shot a look at Savage, "and the others deserve serious consideration, even if they were stunned and captured. The witch, Araminta, was my favorite of that group. She was a positive and encouraging presence who by her very nature fostered collaboration and cohesion. I consider her to have significant leadership potential. She made a number of excellent suggestions during their run, including one that enabled them to maximize the damage inflicted by their kamikaze entrance into the exercise. Also, wandless magic...enough said."

"How close were they to freeing themselves, Rowena?"

"They were never going to get out of there without help or a ward buster, but they were persistent and creative," she offered.

Williamson put in his two knuts on the group, "You already know how I feel about Fawley; I can't believe she was even invited to the exam. I agree with what the others have said about Varma and Martin. I thought Regin McDonald made a good showing as well, at least in the holding room. Noticing that symbol on the wall in the cell was one of the highlights of today for me, and as you all know, I am a sucker for an animagus. I also think we should consider Lewis. I know he got taken out early, but he sacrificed himself so the others could make it to the elevators, and he helped cast their stealth charms at the start.

"He also handled himself decently when we attacked the training room," Cadet Davies shared.

"How did they score on the written exam?" Moody asked the Academy dueling instructor.

Korval was overcome by a fit of laughter, "Sorry, but you aren't going to believe this... Fawley had the top score out of everyone."

"That isn't possible," Williamson declared in utter disbelief. "She obviously cheated, and I am going to enjoy hauling her weepy arse before the Wizengamot."

"Now, now children, calm yourselves," Moody brought the group to order. "It says here she was in Ravenclaw, and her grades in school were outstanding across the board. Some people just can't hack it where the bristles meet the air. That is unfortunate, but not against the law."

"You aren't going to interview her though, are you?" Williamson was calmer now, but concerned about Moody's decision.

"I don't know. She didn't make up an injury and hide in the infirmary the whole time, despite her obvious fear from the beginning. If our best performer in the practical portion had failed the written test, we would still interview them." He sighed, "Put her application in the interview pile. I think after today she is likely to have decided for herself that this isn't the right career for her."

"What about the others?" Rowena inquired.

"Right, uhh...Elf was 4th overall, Varma and Lewis were 6th and 7th respectively, and Regin rounded them out at 9th. All five of them were in the top half."

"All those brains, but they couldn't figure out how to use a revealing spell to locate their enemies or split up so they could potentially utilize a flanking maneuver against them. They also could have used an area environmental spell, like a fog charm, with their door blast to give themselves more cover. Regardless, put them all in the interview pile," Moody ordered.

"Team 3...anyone?"

An MLE Patrol officer, Gregg Larkin, started the discussion, "The witch with the short brown hair..."

"Astrid Clarke, works in floo regulation."

"Her...Clarke, she was a disaster. She reacted quickly when we went to stun them by the bull-pen, but her instinct was to get away rather than shield or fire back. Also, the tall, angry bloke in the group clearly did not have his priories straight."

"Ambrose Taylor"

"He stood there yelling at his teammates instead of focusing on the enemy forces," Larkin concluded.

Korval weighed in, "If Potter hadn't saved them with some crazy family grimoire battle magic ..."

"Actually," corrected Savage, "it was just a standard crowd control spell."

"Pardon me," Korval said sarcastically, "I meant the wall of magic with which he singlehandedly dispatched eight of our combatants...if he hadn't done that, they all would have been taken out in the first 2 minutes of the confrontation. Even with his assistance, they were out within 10."

A field agent from the Misuse of Magic office who had helped out with the exercise confirmed that interpretation, "None of them put up any resistance. It was like stunning fish in a barrel."

Without being prompted this time, Korval proffered their scores, "Mr. Anger Management Class was dead last in the written test standings for this set of applicants. In fact, all of them but Aislinn O'Connor were in the bottom half of examinees. She was 8th."

"Votes?" Moody counted them, and then declared, "Put O'Connor's application on the interview pile, reject the others."

Picking up the only files remaining in the center of the table, Moody announced to the room, "Last, but not least, the infamous Team 2."

Rowena started them off, "It goes without saying that they should all receive an interview. Honestly, I would take any one of them into my squad tomorrow if we were going to conduct a big raid on a conclave of Dark Wizards. Moreover, I think the skills and strengths — especially the teamwork and leadership— they demonstrated today, can't be taught, and bode very well for their ability to learn the legal and investigative side of the Auror trade."

"Here, here," Williamson seconded. "May I please ask Potter in the interview what he cast the first time the T-meter registered his activity today?"

"I have a theory, would you care to wager on the answer?"

"I'll take your bet, Korval," Williamson replied.

"Okay," Moody interrupted the side chatter, "We talked a lot about this group in the observation room, but does anyone have anything they wanted to add?"

"I want all three of them on the dueling team at the Academy," Korval stated.

"I plan to work diligently to stay in Greengrass' good graces after she joins the corps," said Savage, only partially joking.

"Potter almost takes off your arm, but you're scared of the teenage witch?" Rowena shook her head.

"I am sure that Proudfoot and Cadet Davidson will back me up on that," Savage retorted.

"I am going to buy Potter a pint later for shutting Dawlish up for a few days," Williamson revealed.

"Alright you reprobates, that's enough. For formality's sake, what were their written exam rankings?" Moody asked, bringing the rowdy aurors to heel.

"2nd, 3rd, and 5th overall. Unsurprisingly, Bones had the highest scores of three. Potter was last, because he obviously doesn't know dragon shite about the laws. His responses to some of the tactics questions, though, were genius," Korval marveled.

"So, how many applications do we have in the interview pile, now?"

"There were 6 unanimous votes, 2 vetoes that were put in the pile on the basis of your Commandant override, 1 on the fence, and Apollo's application, which we set aside at the beginning," Korval reported.

"Okay, show of hands, do you want Apollo to replace Bayard Lewis?" looking at the absence of arms Moody reported, "That's a no. Eloise Fawley?" Eyebrows raised at the lack of hands in the air, he commented, "Surprisingly also a no. How about Aislinn O'Connor?" Most hands shot up at that name, "We have a winner. Swap Apollo Rabnott's application for O'Connor's. That gives us 9 interviews."

Moody stood and clomped toward the individuals in the room who were not part of the interviewing panel, primarily cadets and patrol officers. "Thank you for your assistance, today," he said as he shook each of their hands. "We could not have done this without you. I have drafted Letters of Appreciation for each of you, for your files."

Moody hollered over to the group of Aurors clustered by the door, "Williamson, walk out with this lot and make sure our wayward recruits are on their way back."

"Aye, Sir."

"Korval,"

"Sir?"

"I'd like you to sit in on the interviews, too, if you would?"

"I'd be happy to."

"Cadets, if you are interested, you may stay for the hot wash with the applicants before you floo back to the Academy."

Thompson spoke for the group, "We would be thrilled to, sir."

Williamson waved to the others as he followed the MLE Patrol members to their corridor.

"Thanks again for all your help today, I know Commandant Moody was impressed by your efforts. He asked me to see if you would be interested in participating in some Auror drills with our squads later.

"That would be ace!" one of them replied.

"Have any of you ever considered joining the corps? You should think about it. It's a different path to vestment when you are transferring from within the DMLE. If you ever want to talk about it, I am available.

Enthusiastic goodbyes were shared all around, as the Patrol officers returned to their regular duties. "Wait!” Williamson called out, "Officer Hodgkins, was it? Could I have a word?"

She waved on her colleagues and accompanied him back down the hall, for privacy. She seemed to be under the impression that he was going to ask her out. She could not have been more wrong.

He pulled out a sheet of parchment and showed it to her. "Is this your signature, Officer Hodgkins?"

"It is," she confirmed, beginning to look concerned.

"As you no doubt recall, this is the release form you signed to take part in the simulation today. In the stipulations that you agreed to, it states that if the Auror Department deems any information you were exposed to in the course of this exercise too sensitive to be known outside Auror channels, that information, and only that information, will be obliviated from your memory.

"But what..I don't..."

"Obliviate"

He took most of the knowledge of the specifics of Potter's performance from her mind, leaving the bulk of her day and experiences untouched. He allowed her to keep Potter's take-down of Dawlish because it amused him, but also because her colleagues were most likely to discuss it in her presence. He blurred her overall impressions of Potter and the others, ensuring that no fear or undue concern about any of them remained. He ended his spell, and then smiled down at her as she re-gained her bearings. Completing the charade, he suggested, "So, maybe we could meet at the Leaky sometime, if you aren't busy?"

"I'd like that," she replied, blushing. How embarrassing! She'd been daydreaming about going on a date with him right in front of him.

"I've got to get back, but I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Bye," she waved at him and headed back to her office.

Mission accomplished; the things he did for that crippled, old man. Merlin, he needed a shower.

***************************

19 March 1998 - Ministry Cafeteria - Level 8- 12:20PM

Susan was keen to have the Cumberland sausages and mash from the hot food line, while Harry and Daphne both opted for self-service entrees. He went for a jacket potato; she selected the soup and a bread roll. All three wanted tea to drink, so Daphne took it upon herself to procure them a good-sized pot and all of the accompaniments.

"Where did you get that?" Susan inquired, wide-eyed, wiping gravy from the corner of her mouth.

Wrinkling her nose at Susan's plate, "A witch without mystery is no woman," was all the brown-haired girl would reveal on the matter.

"Don't be like that, Daphne," Susan complained at the look on the other witch's face, "I can't help it, I'm starving! Taking out bad guys really stimulates my appetite, even when they're not real bad guys." The red head closed her eyes in bliss as she took another bite of her lunch.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as Harry watched their interaction. He turned to his own plate, carefully cutting his potato before methodically working the melting butter throughout the pulp. Sprinkling a dash of both salt and pepper on top, he deemed his lunch ready to eat.

Spooning somewhat listlessly from her own bland cafeteria fare, Daphne appeared fascinated by his thorough preparations. He suspected her interest was largely motivated by her desire to block out the sounds and visuals of Susan's nearly obscene enjoyment of her food. That witch could eat!

Scraping her fork against her plate in a manner that even Harry thought was borderline obnoxious, and he had grown up with Dudley and Vernon Dursley AND regularly sat directly across from Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table, Susan excitedly informed the others, "I think there is a color-changing custard listed on the board for pudding. Would you like some?"

Before either of them could politely decline, a gaggle of other academy applicants noisily made their way from the tills to the seating area. A group of three who Harry recognized as members of the team sent to secure the Minister's office made their way over to the Hogwarts students' largely vacant table, hovering awkwardly with their trays. They all looked to be in their early to mid-twenties, though Harry would guess the grey-eyed, dark-haired wizard was the eldest, if pressed. All three 7th years stood, and Harry waved to the empty bench, "Please, have a seat," he offered. The black-haired witch immediately sat, but the others remained on their feet.

"Thank you, My Lord," Aelfdene Martin greeted, bending at the waist. Regin McDonald also bowed deeply; neither took their chairs. Araminta looked up at her teammates, bewildered by their behavior.

Harry was similarly baffled, and he shot a panicked look at Daphne, who was trying hard not to reveal her amusement over the situation. Taking pity on him, she made it very obvious with her eyes that Harry needed to reclaim his seat. Hesitantly, he sat back on the bench, and soon the others followed suit. He was now blushing so red that Daphne was afraid he might spontaneously combust. Before anyone could do anything else disconcerting, Harry turned abruptly and said, "Susan, you've convinced me. Let's get some custard."

He stood once more and gestured for the red head to lead the way. The others immediately clambered to their feet as well. "If you'll excuse us," he said, acknowledging the table, letting Daphne know with a glance that he was hoping she would deal with whatever was going on there in his absence.

As he caught up to the other witch, who was practically skipping at the prospects of pudding, he commiserated to her, "Merlin help me, now there are more of them!"

While Harry was busy with Susan, Daphne set about her appointed task of getting her fellow wizard-raised magicals to ease up a bit with the protocol. First, she explained to the group that, despite occasional appearances to the contrary, Harry Potter was in truth a rather shy individual who preferred to stay under the radar in most circumstances. Further, what with his entire family being dead by the time he was fifteen months old and an evil dark wizard after his blood for his entire life, he was not as well-versed in his House's history or position in their world as one might assume. Finally, in a last ditch effort to appeal to them, she revealed that Harry was unfortunately mostly ignorant of the expectations and exceptionally uncomfortable with the attentions afforded his station. Moreover, particularly while he was still in school, he had a strong preference for everyone to treat him as normally as possible. Araminta had not required convincing, and Daphne's pleas resonated with the sensitive Regin. Unfortunately, Aelfdene remained implacable on the issue, insisting that his upbringing would not allow for the degree of familiarity she was proposing. Well, bugger...at least she had tried.

***************************

Meanwhile...

Susan noted as they got in line that while the green-eyed wizard's cheeks remained slightly pink, he had otherwise regained his normal coloring. "Harry," she proceeded tentatively, "I've never treated you differently, because my Aunt told me you were raised in the muggle world before we started school, and we Bones don't really put much emphasis on Pure-blood customs or House politics anyway...but you must be aware. The House of Potter is like Wizarding royalty- literally. You have the blood of the last magical Kings running through your veins, and everyone knows it."

"What?!" he demanded, volume low, but vehemence such that they still garnered a few looks from other patrons. He had gone very pale. Alarmed, she reached out to him, concerned he might faint.

"Everyone but you, it seems," she concluded a bit sadly. "You know what would really help in this situation?" she asked rhetorically, "Color-changing custard." She turned to the cafeteria attendant, "We'll take three, please."

After they paid, she offered him advice as they gathered utensils for the table, optimistic that the others would want some of the treat. "Harry, you need to be prepared for the fact that it is likely going to get worse when you graduate, so I say just ignore them if it makes you uncomfortable. People are hardly going to call you out. Most will respect your choices on this issue, and as they get to know you better, they might not even begrudge it. Remember, they can't help it, it is how they were raised. And, maybe, after we take care of our little dark lord problem once and for all, you could explore what it all means, if you wanted? My Aunt said your ascension registered at the Ministry as a 'Magical Event,' capital letters; it might be worth learning more about that, you know?"

"Yeah, the Goblins..." he trailed off, still in some shock and with many questions rolling around in his mind. Obviously some of words in his ritual had not been as symbolic as he had assumed...why was his life so complicated? Pushing it all aside for the moment, he touched her gently on the shoulder before they started walking back to the table, "Thanks, Susan."

"Anytime," she responded with a smile. "Now hurry up, Your Highness, because I am going to have to hurt someone if I don't get to eat that custard before we have to head back upstairs," she teased.

***

A rather painful 10 minutes of stilted conversation followed; thank Merlin there was pudding! Things were so dire that even Daphne ate some of the garish concoction, as it was either that or try to scrape her eyeballs out with her spoon. She desperately wished there had been firewhisky instead.

Araminta, a half-blood whose pure-blood father hailed from India and whose Muggle-born mother grew up in Kidlington, found herself morbidly fascinated and highly entertained by the scrupulously polite conflict between the younger wizard's clear desire for normalcy and Aelfdene's insistence on formality. He seemed sincere, but it was all so ridiculous that she hadn't entirely dismissed the idea that her teammate was taking the piss. Research was definitely going to be in order once she recovered from today. This represented a whole facet of British wizarding culture she had not even known existed despite her solidly magical upbringing.

Finally, putting them all out of their misery, Harry pulled out the pocket watch his father had left him, one he now self-consciously noted was covered with all sorts of traditional royal motifs, like lions and crowns. Sighing in relief at the time, he suggested to his table mates, "We should probably begin heading back to the applicant testing room for our interviews."

"Of course My..ah..Harry," responded Regin, as they all rose from the table. The auburn-haired Scotsman was trying. Aelfdene Martin, however, remained punctilious in his observance of proprieties and courtesies. Harry appeared annoyed but ultimately resigned to the situation. Too bad that, Susan has been hoping Harry would hex him.

They all trudged back upstairs in silent contemplation. Like many of their fellow applicants who poured off the lifts and milled around the area in front of the elevators, delaying the inevitable, the group of six was growing increasingly nervous about what lay ahead. This day had been anything but predictable so far. Before anyone could get too bogged down in pessimistic speculations, the familiar (and thankfully uninjured) Auror Williamson waved to the prospective recruits. "Alright you lot," Williamson announced, approaching the disorganized mass, "Time to head back. The boss gets grumpy...well, grumpier...when he is kept waiting. Let's go!"

To be continued ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to linuxrocs and xkcdBlackHat for leaving kudos. Thank You!
> 
> Please see other disclaimers and acknowledgements in earlier chapters. Daphne's comment about the tea pot is modified from an Imania Margria quote.


	5. It Will All Come Out in the (Hot)wash (Part 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 - The day of Harry’s Auror Entrance Exam finally comes to an end. Hotwash and Interviews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2 Aug;
> 
> I know Daphne's Taken movie quote is about a decade too early, but it was too perfect not to use. For those interested, I used the 1st, 2nd, and the 6th Rorschach ink blots cards for Susan's interview.
> 
> Next up - Battling Voldemort

~Previously..."Time to head back. The boss gets grumpy...well, grumpier...when he is kept waiting. Let's go!"~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

19 March 1998- Auror Applicant Room - Level 2 - Ministry of Magic, London 1:01PM

"Welcome back," Master Senior Auror Alastor Moody greeted the aspiring Aurors, swiveling his magical eye to take in the entire group of applicants. "For those who don't know me, I am the Commandant of the Auror Academy. You may call me 'Sir' or 'Auror Moody.' I, along with Auror Williamson, who you know, Senior Field Auror Russell, and one of the Dueling Instructors at the Academy, Professor Korval, will be conducting your interviews this afternoon." He gestured to each of the individuals he had identified in turn.

"But first, we are going to do what is known in law enforcement circles as a ‘hotwash’. We will discuss and evaluate this exercise as a whole, maybe offer some constructive critiques, and look at what went well and what went poorly so we can improve upon today's performance in future exercises. Aurors conduct this kind of assessment after every major raid or field action. I used to make whoever had committed the biggest cock-up compile the formal After Action Report for the Head Auror and DMLE Director, provided they survived their mistake. Auror Russell may do things differently these days."

"Nope, biggest numpty still gets the quill," the field Auror confirmed.

"Now then, this first question goes to our recruits," Moody announced. "How many of you thought the Ministry was genuinely under attack today? Go on, raise your hands, that's it," he coaxed. He noted that every hand was in the air. He nodded, touching various desks and tables as he clomped through the room, generally terrifying its occupants. "Are you telling me that not a single one of you, at any point today, thought to yourself...'maybe this isn't real, maybe it is part of my exam'? Really, no one?" Turning sharply, he declared, loudly, "I don't buy it."

Finally stopping his haphazard circuit of the room, Moody leaned against the large desk at the front. Surveying the crowd, his eyes searched their faces, as if trying to peer into their very souls. "Aurors aren't just hit-wizards," he told them, "We are investigators and officers of the law. Aurors are trained to be observant, to think critically and make connections, and to notice inconsistencies. Potter!" he barked suddenly, dipping his head respectfully toward their most famous recruit.

Harry gaped, now that he knew what to look for, he couldn't ignore it. How had he never realized? Bloody hell... though certainly more subtle about it, even people like Moody apparently felt compelled to show some level of deference! Fuck...his minor mental breakdown had just distracted him from the Auror's question; now he was going to look like a prat in front of everyone. He could feel his face heating up...why did these things always happen to him?

"...heard you admit as much in Director Bones' office. You risked sowing a damaging level of discontent within your team with your insistence on non-lethal force; you suspected something. Come on," Moody cajoled, "Talk us through it."

Taking a deep breath, Harry began a bit shakily. "The initial engagement was the most realistic; I was positive in that first twenty minutes that Voldemort," with long practice he ignored the shudders of many in the room at his use of the name, "was mounting an attack on the Ministry." Savage preened at the praise.

Moody cut in, calling on another applicant."Lewis, what was it about Auror Savage's assault on this room that convinced you that you were battling Death Eaters?

The light haired wizard with exceptionally thin lips seemed surprised at the question. "Ah...well the clothes they wore, especially the masks and hoods, and the fact that they burst in with wands blazing made me think they were followers of You-Know-Who." He paused for a moment, "Oh...and one of them said something about getting the er... 'mudbloods' first," he recalled, seeming quite embarrassed to have uttered the pejorative aloud.

"Good, good... so you're saying that the crude and fanatical language coupled with the costumes and aggressive behavior lent an air of authenticity to the experience?" Moody concluded. At Lewis' nod, he asked his Aurors, "Whose idea was it to add that little detail?"

"Mine, Sir," stated Cadet Chakraborty, uncertainly.

“Well done," Moody praised. "Ms. Greengrass, you seem to be the skeptical type...how is it that you never once considered that this whole thing was staged?"

"It was easy for me to believe the raid was real, because I was already half expecting some kind of attack today." At the incredulous looks from many in the room, she explained, "There are more than 500 students at Hogwarts, and some of them have families loyal to You-Know-Who. The Ministry's notification owls went out in plain view of everyone in the Great Hall, and it would not have been very difficult to find out precisely when Lord Potter would be testing. The Dark Lord and his followers have made numerous attempts on his life over the last seven years, and it was not inconceivable to me that they would choose to take advantage of his presence outside the school's wards and invade the Ministry on the day he was slated for his exams."

Moody nodded at her logic, and Williamson seemed impressed that she had been anticipating that kind of trouble yet showed up to be tested anyway. "Rabnott, what about you?" inquired Moody, "Why did you think the attack was real?"

The tall blonde leaned his heads to the side, considering his answer. "Everything Bayard mentioned, of course, provided very compelling evidence. However, the biggest factor for me was Auror Williamson's injuries. They were severe. In fact, it seemed unlikely that he would survive them. This demonstrated unequivocally and immediately that our attackers were enemies and that they were playing for keeps."

"Potter, you look like you want to say something," claimed Moody, grinning fiercely at Harry, who looked as though speaking at this juncture was the very last thing on his agenda.

Fingers tapping on the desk in a nervous tattoo, Harry revealed, "I was too distracted by the blood at the time, but I just realized that while Auror Williamson's injuries were made to appear as though they were the result of several dark cutting curses, the wounds didn't carry that um..." he paused, searching for the word, ".. residue typically associated with dark magic.” 

Russell raised an eyebrow at this pronouncement, and Moody shot her an unambiguous 'I told you so' look in response.

Posing the question to the applicant group as a whole, Moody asked, "Now that you've had time to mentally review everything that happened this afternoon, what were some signs that this wasn't an actual attack?"

Aislinn O'Connor spoke up first, "Well, for one, there were no alarms or anything going off at any point. True, the attackers could have disabled them...but since stealth clearly wasn't a priority, why would they have bothered? Also, why stun us? In real life, they probably would have just killed most of us."

Thoughtfully considering the freckled witch's observations, Regin nodded slowly in agreement. "Yeah, I guess it does seem a bit out of character for Death Eaters to go to the trouble of putting us in a holding cell."

"I just assumed they planned to torture us for information later," Aelfdene admitted.

"Ok...but what information would they think any of us would have? None of us were wearing Auror uniforms or seem remotely like professional law enforcement officials. Any real Death Eaters might have guessed that we had little to no practical intelligence value," Araminta countered.

"Plus," added Celestia Roberts, speaking for the first time, "They initially found all of us in a room with a sign on the door for 'applicant testing.'

"True," Susan allowed, "but only the first group would have known that for certain."

"Now you're all thinking," Moody commended. "So, Potter, take us home. Why were you not convinced deep down that Voldemort's followers were the ones on your tail?" Much of the room flinched at the name.

Un-phased, Harry began, "It's like you said, Sir, it was a lot of little things, minor inconsistencies that planted doubt in the back of my mind. I mean, to start with, the attack wasn't brutal enough. I never saw or heard a single Unforgivable today in all the spells that were cast. That has not typically been my experience with that crowd. In fact, with the exception of the spells we assumed had been used to injure Auror Williamson, there was hardly anything stronger than a mild blasting hex cast by our attackers. Also, the enemy force was too large to be unsanctioned, but too small-scale and frankly ineffective to believably be Voldemort's Ministry invasion vanguard."

Cadet Thompson appeared to take particular umbrage to Harry's criticisms of their capabilities, and so without regard to his audience, he shot to his feet. Before he could utter even a single word, however, Williamson came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder, hard, urging him forcefully back to his seat. "Watch yourself, Cadet," he murmured threateningly. Cadets Davies and Chakraborty both looked shocked and embarrassed at his behavior.

"Go on," Moody encouraged, shooting a glare in Thompson's direction that promised consequences for his lack of control.

"Right," Harry continued, running his hand through his hair as he reordered his thoughts. "As I said, the force we encountered was not big enough to successfully take over the government, but it was far too big to merely be testing gaps in the Ministry's security. Identifying vulnerabilities in the system would surely be done by a small infiltration team. So, why would he tip his hand like that? Such a noisy presence would likely cause the Ministry to tighten its security in the aftermath. It didn't make sense to me. The biggest tell, though, was that none of the attackers who saw me reacted in any way. As Daphne alluded to earlier, Voldemort and his followers have been rather...ardent in their pursuit of me. Genuine Death Eaters would not have allowed my presence to go unremarked," he finished, seeming spent. Several of the candidates blanched at his matter-of-fact statements about the dark lord's obsession with him.

Moody limped back toward the center of the room, "Cadets, Aurors, do you have anything you want to contribute?"

Auror Russell took the floor, "The most frequent issue we observed today was slow reaction time. In many instances, you were taken down because you just stood there paralyzed as spells came toward you. Fear is normal, and it will remain your dragon brain, limbic response. The academy will teach you to process that instant of fear quickly and act consciously rather than react through it. Even a split second of hesitation can get you or someone in your squad killed, so we focus heavily on training that out of you."

Cadet Davies stepped forward, "Auror teams typically work in groups of two or three, and most academy squads are made up of teams of -at most- four. It seemed like some of the comparatively larger teams struggled with coordinating the efforts five individuals."

Auror Williamson spoke up, "There were a lot of things that did not go well today, true, but don't be too hard on yourselves...most of you have never done anything like this before. For every fumble today, I also saw great teamwork, strong leadership, impressive ingenuity and creativity, and many examples of selflessness and valor. If you are the future of the Auror corps, I believe it is in good hands." He started clapping for the candidates, and soon the other Aurors and cadets joined in.

"This concludes today's Auror entrance exam for half of you," Moody informed them as the applause died down. "These decisions were based on a combination of your scores on the written exam from this morning and an evaluation of your performance in the practical exercise before lunch. I have posted a list by the door," he waved his wand, and it shimmered into view. "If your name is one of the 9 on that list, you will be interviewed today after a short break. As for the rest of you, we will be in touch. There will be another round of interviews conducted at the end of the applicant testing cycle in late June, and some of you may be contacted to take part in those. As you have been told, no final placement decisions will be made until all of this year's prospective candidates have been tested. Thank you."

*******************************  
19 March 1998 - Interview Montage- Ministry of Magic - 1:35pm

There were nine names on the list, but only eight wizards and witches were tensely waiting to be called. The last member of their select group, the blonde-haired, pure-blooded former Ravenclaw who Daphne had lambasted during the surprise practical portions of their exams, had departed just minutes before after delivering a sealed letter to the members of the interview panel. Most of the other recruits agreed that given her abject terror after the staged attack and abysmal performance in that exercise she had likely withdrawn her name from consideration. Speculation as to why she had even been offered an interview in the first place was rampant; none of it flattering.

Daphne, who couldn't even fathom why Eloise Fawley had been chosen to take part in the exam day at all, was not shy about sharing her opinion. "After all, one can't stop a dark wizard by crying at them. What else is she capable of?"

"Daphne," Harry chastised mildly, "There is no reason to be mean; she's obviously determined on her own that she is probably not cut out for this type of work."

"As you say, My Lord," she responded primly. "I don't truly enjoy maligning such a ridiculous slag anyway, there is no sport in it."

Susan snorted, both scandalized and amused, "Daphne! You know what he meant. Anyway, I personally think she must have done incredibly well on the written exam; there is really no other explanation, is there?" Harry nodded in agreement. She certainly hadn't been selected for her ability to work under pressure.

Daphne gave the pair a pitying look, "You both truly believe that don't you? You two are so innocent that it actually pains me.” Looking genuinely put-out, she sighed, "What must it be like to live in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor... dorms teeming with blushing virgins, no power politics, and honest, subtext-free conversation?" She acted like she might consider that a fate worse than death.

Blushing despite his best efforts to contain it, Harry replied, "Not everyone is a walking stereotype. For example, just as I don't believe that all Slytherins are evil Voldemort bootlickers, you shouldn't think that all Gryffindors are brash, self-righteous prats or that all Hufflepuffs are sweet, paragons of virtue and kindness...I mean look at Zacharias Smith," he joked.

"Exactly!" Susan joined in, seemingly agreeing more vociferously with his characterization of Smith than anything else. "Plus," she amended, smirking in a most un-Hufflepuff-like fashion as if to prove Harry's point, "You were wrong about one thing...Badgers are not repressed in the slightest."

"Really?" Daphne inquired, sounding fascinated. "I would not have guessed that."

Before their conversation could devolve further, Rowena Russell emerged from a previously hidden doorway on the left-hand side of the room. All eyes were on the female field Auror as she requested "Aelfdene Martin," accompany her to see the panel.

Momentarily relieved that she hadn't been called up first, Daphne made a note to discuss Hufflepuff proclivities further with Susan at a later time, preferably in front of Harry, if only to test how far the Purity charms on the Potter ring would allow her to go before she was considered to be a threat to the morality of the unwed Potter Lord...on second thought, the Potter Family Magic was legendary. As a matter of self-preservation, she would have to satisfy her Hogwarts anthropological curiosities on her own time.

*******************************  
Interview Subject: Aelfdene Martin

Immediately the rapid-fire interrogation began, and it eventually reached the point where Aelfdene was considering that it might have been preferable to have actually been captured by Death Eaters.

Nearing the end of what felt hours but had in fact only been about 15 minutes, Auror Williamson asked, "Elf, can I call you that? Given your personal tragedies involving dark wizards, are you concerned that you may at times lack the necessary objectivity on the job?"

Aelfdene's initial reaction to the query was anger. How dare they use his family's loss to imply he was unsuitable to be an Auror when it was precisely because of those experiences that he was driven to join the corps? Though he forced himself to reign in his temper, he couldn't keep all of the irritation out of his voice in his terse response. "I believe that the depth of my commitment to bringing justice and fighting darkness in our world is a valuable commodity for an Auror, and the misfortune that you alluded to was the very fire that forged the steel of my resolve. My own experiences enable me to empathize with victims and families in a way that will be an asset in my work. Moreover, while I can't deny that I am not positively predisposed toward dark magic practitioners, as I imagine is also true for all of you, I abhor the systemic corruption and injustice that creates such individuals even more. If I were to lose objectivity and orchestrate the imprisonment of someone for a crime they did not commit, deliberately or through ignorant bias, not only do I become part of the very scourge that I want to eradicate, but the guilty party goes free. That, I cannot abide."

The panel was silent, more than a little moved by the impassioned case Aelfdene Martin had made. While anything could happen given the number of applicants remaining to be assessed over the next two months, it seemed likely that Martin had just assured himself a place at the Academy

*******************************  
The stress was starting to get to them. First, Martin had left his interview looking like he had been forced to go several rounds with a giant. He departed the Applicant Testing room soon after, though not before giving his regards to both his practical exercise teammates and the Hogwarts group, especially Harry, much to the green-eyed wizard's dismay.

Apollo Rabnott was requested next by the panel, his reaction very reminiscent of the first time he had found himself in that position, nerves clear for all to see. He followed Auror Williamson into the room like a man walking to his execution. Startling the waiting candidates, Apollo emerged with a loud bang less that 10 minutes later, looking immensely relieved. He gathered his things and waved a jaunty goodbye to the remaining six. His day was finally over.

The Academy instructor, a wizard with kind eyes and smile lines at the corners of his mouth, popped out next. "Would Bayard Lewis please come with me?" he requested. Lewis stood so quickly that he nearly knocked his chair to the ground in his eagerness before disappearing behind the door.

There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the order they were being interviewed. For example, while Susan considered Aelfdene Martin to be one of the more capable applicants in their set, she had not been impressed by either Rabnott or Lewis. She wondered if it had something to do with their written exam scores? Before she could analyze that angle any further, Daphne declared, "Or maybe it is just random...relax Bones. I can practically hear the wheels turning in your brain. They'll get to all of us eventually."

"I know, I just want to get this over with," Susan revealed, feeling slightly vulnerable in front of the other witch. Lewis finally reappeared, looking significantly worse for wear. What were they doing to people in there?

"Ms. Daphne Greengrass," Master Senior Auror Alastor Moody shouted out in his typical gruff tone. Their entire group flinched. How had that man managed to sneak up on them with a bloody peg leg? Both Harry and Susan offered her encouraging smiles as she rose from her chair. She breathed deeply, smoothing her robes before heading toward him. It was time.

*******************************  
Interview Subject: Daphne Greengrass

The brunette witch felt the door seal behind her. The interrogation, for there was no other word that would suffice, began immediately. All four members of the panel were relentless in their prying. They asked her about everything from her childhood to her conflict management style to her placement in the Slytherin hierarchy and its basis. At one point they even forced her to do word association.

"Please say the first thing that comes to your mind when I give you a word," Auror Russell requested. "Your responses should be instantaneous. If you delay too long, Auror Moody will hex you," she warned, wryly. “Are you ready?"

"Yes," answered Daphne, sounding far more confident than she felt.

"What do you think of when I say: Thestral?”

"Death"

"Willow?"

"Womping"

"Flower?"

"Pansy," she couldn't conceal her distaste over the fact that the fawning, pug-nosed embarrassment to Slytherin apparently occupied a portion of her subconscious.

"Charm?"

"Cheering," Merlin, it was like she had had a brain transplant; disbelief flickered across her face at her unfiltered responses.

"Auror?”

"Red"

"Dismember?"

"Castrate," Now that was more like it...she had started to worry that spending her day with the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had left her permanently changed.

Auror Williamson grinned, he couldn't wait to tell Savage; it would only add to the other Auror's hilarious trepidation over the teen witch, which frankly served him right.

Moody took over her interview at that point. "Ms. Greengrass," he began, "You come from a wealthy, prominent family. Your father is a successful businessman, and your mother is a respected scholar. Why do you want to be an Auror?"

The benign, almost boiler plate question took her off guard more than she cared to admit. As she formulated her response, she felt exposed somehow; as if she were being forced to disclose things about herself she would rather keep hidden. Since that was quite obviously one of the goals of this portion of the day, she privately applauded their guile and insight. After all, how had they known that such a standard inquiry would be so effective at burrowing into her depths when not even she had realized how much of her core self would potentially be revealed by her answer? Her first rejoinder was flippant, a last, desperate attempt to deflect, "Well, you see," she told them with faux earnest, "I have a very particular set of skills." Only Korval laughed. "Tough crowd," she lamented as she eyed the range of looks she was receiving from the other three: disappointment, irritation, and even exasperated encouragement. Williamson was truly a good egg.

"If you would please elaborate, Ms. Greengrass, on your motivations for wanting to join the corps," Auror Russell prompted impatiently, making it very clear that further disassembling would not be tolerated.

"As you said, I was born into pure-blood privilege with few expectations levied upon me aside from hopefully marrying well. House Greengrass doesn't support the pure-blood supremacy platform, but it has unapologetically benefitted from its legislation, agenda, and societal implications for decades. I can't be a part of that. The current disease plaguing the magical world is the natural progression of that attitude and those entitlements. I feel responsible, because the people I was raised with are perpetuating it, and my own family has sat back and disapproved behind closed doors while doing absolutely nothing about it. I will fight; I have to fight; because to do otherwise would make me just as culpable as those dark, racist bastards who go about in hoods and cloaks torturing and killing people for the accident of their birth." She stopped and took several heaving breaths, surprised at how worked up she had managed to get. After a moment, she continued more calmly; her words carrying nearly the weight of a magical oath. "No matter what, I will be part of driving back this pervasive disfunction and prejudice. I would like to be an Auror, so I can do it more effectively, as part of a team, with the appropriate resources and the backing of the government and the law. I want to be an Auror to protect, defend, and restore the balance. I want to be an Auror to maintain what I know will be hard-won peace and progress. I would rather be an Auror than a vigilante, but make no mistake, I will be battling the darkness with or without a badge."

Deciding she was done with this interview, whether the panel agreed or not, she stood, nodding respectfully to each of the members before gracefully taking her leave. She would like to believe she had left stunned silence in her wake, but recognized that could easily be hubris or her ego talking.

After exiting the inner door and joining the others, she finally started to relax. She must have looked a fright, since both Susan and Harry appeared very concerned. "Are you alright, Daphne? It must have been dreadful," Susan sympathized.

"Do you need anything?" Harry asked solicitously, "A drink of water? I have some Honeydukes' finest right here, too," he offered.

She raised an eyebrow at that before accepting. "Some chocolate would be welcome, My Lord, thank you."

Having learned that Susan's sweet tooth rivaled Dumbledore's, he broke off a piece for each of them. "I have it in case of Dementors," he explained as he doled out chunks of the bar.

"Encounter them often, do you, My Lord?" Daphne inquired, playfully.

"More than you'd think," he answered cryptically, shivering slightly. "Plus, my boggart assumes the form of one; it isn't exactly the same, obviously, but it does produce a discernible effect."

Both witches looked horrified, but before either could delve further, they heard Auror Williamson call in Regin McDonald. "Oh, come on!" whined Susan, dramatically burying her head in her hands, "Put me out of my misery, Merlin, please!"

*******************************  
Interview Subject: Regin McDonald

"Show us your animagus form," Moody demanded as soon as Regin passed the threshold. Seeing no reason to refuse, he shifted instantly to his sloth form. The panel members studied him, noting distinguishing characteristics, and especially those that more obviously carried over from his human form, such as the unusual reddish fur. After several minutes of taking notes, Moody requested he turn back so they could begin their interview. Complying, Regin approached the chair clearly set aside for applicants- as its placement was not unlike what would be appropriate for a firing squad- almost as slow as he would have been if he hadn't transformed first.

They praised him for his observation skills, citing his recognition of his location from the small symbol scratched into the wall as impressive detective work. They asked him why he wanted to be an Auror so badly along with a number of other questions, from soft pitches to hard balls. Finally, Korval took the metaphorical podium. "You're a pure-blood who clearly observes at least some of the old traditions," the instructor stated, not quite an accusation, as he gestured to Regin's style of dress and hair. "As such, there will be people at the Ministry and within the DMLE who will make certain assumptions about you which may make them comfortable sharing ...uncouth comments, shall we say, with you that they might otherwise keep to themselves given the current political climate. How do you feel about blood politics in the workplace? What would you do in the event that the scenario I described came to pass at the Academy or in the corps?"

He felt a stab of annoyance, a relatively rare occurrence for the laid-back Scott. Did they think he was a blood purist? Why? Because he kept his hair long and wore traditional, closed robes? "Naturally," he emphasized, the sting of their insult still fresh,"I do not support bigotry on the basis of blood status or anything else. Is that a problem in the Auror corps?" Regin found that fairly hard to believe, wouldn't three years together at the Academy create a camaraderie that went beyond blood, pure or otherwise?

"One shouldn't get complacent; it can become a problem anywhere," admonished Korval.

"Of course,” Regin agreed, thinking through the question. "I don't believe any kind of politics have a place in the Auror corps, including Blood politics. If someone expressed offensively pro-pure blood sentiments to me, or I observed racism or harassment in the workplace, I would take different actions depending on the specifics and the severity of the situation, but I would most certainly act, and I wouldn't stop until I was sure that it wouldn't be a problem again. For example, if it involved bullying or creating a hostile work environment for someone else, I would report it immediately to their superior or mine, depending on the established procedures. If someone made an off-color joke or statement to me or used an offensive label, I would tell that person that I found their language unacceptable. If they persisted, I would report them. I do not let these sorts of behaviors or attitudes go unremarked upon in my day-to-day life now, I can't imagine that changing at the academy or in the corps. I would stand up against it, I would counsel people about the negative impacts of such talk. I would use social pressure to shun people for committing those undesirable and damaging acts. I mean, I know unconscious bias exists, but everyone needs to work at being self-aware. I would also appeal to the fact that we are all one team with one mission; we wear the same uniform; we protect and defend. Blood status aside, we all bleed red."

"Well said, Mr. McDonald," Auror Williamson cheered. A few minutes later, they dismissed him for the day. It was over.

As he left the room, feeling ambivalent about his chances and performance overall, he heard Senior Field Auror Russell call "Susan Bones," before the panel.

*******************************  
Interview Subject: Susan Bones

From the start, Susan was stripped bare and taken apart before being put back together again. Was this how it had been for the others? A never-ending stream of questions with no time to breathe, to think, to weigh potential responses. Just when she thought she might break, due to the intensity, they stopped and thrust a piece of parchment under her nose that looked as though someone had accidentally spilled an entire pot of ink on it. "Tell us what you see, Ms. Bones," Auror Moody commanded.

"Someone obviously spilled ink all over this parchment," she replied, utterly bewildered by the question. Were they testing her vision?

Exchanging looks with the other interviewers as Susan peered at the parchment with an expression that indicated she thought them at best, dull, and at worst insane, Auror Moody clarified, "We would like you to just say whatever comes to mind as you look at the image made by the ink on the parchment; there is no 'right' answer here, Ms. Bones. It is just your impressions of the image."

"Okay," replied Susan, who still thought the request was odd. She looked at the parchment, turning it slightly, tilting her head to the side. "Well, this one looks a bit like a Cerebus, doesn't it? I mean you can only really see two of the heads clearly, but it isn't hard to imagine it being a three-headed dog called Fluffy." She handed the parchment back.

After some shuffling, he handed her another, this one a mix of red and black ink on the image. It looked faintly vulgar to her, and she wrinkled her nose at the picture. "It ah...looks like the pelvic bone to me, with the red bits...being well, red bits, if you get my drift."

She felt exceptionally proud that she hadn't blushed at all; she knew Harry would have been beet red by now. This made her feel somewhat superior, but also made her hope, for his sake, they didn't show him these pictures. Some of that must have involuntarily flashed across her face, because Russell asked, "Tell us what was going through your mind just now?" as she accepted the parchment from the ginger Hufflepuff.

"Um..." and now she was blushing, damnit! "I was feeling a bit smug that I hadn't pinked up or anything even with the potentially provocative picture you showed me and thinking that poor Harry was either so innocent he wouldn't have seen what I did on the image, or, if he did, would have been so red you would have been concerned about him catching fire. I was wishing that you wouldn't show these to him."

Korval confidently stated, "Ms. Bones, I promise you this ink blot wouldn't scandalize a 17-year-old male."

"As I understand it, the Potter family magic is ruthless. Harry has probably rarely had an impure thought in his life, and certainly not since he put on the ring. He is a bachelor, and House Potter goes to the marriage bed chaste."

The pure bloods among the panel nodded, while Korval looked shocked. Everyone appeared sympathetic...that was no way to spend one’s last few years at Hogwarts.

Clearing his throat, because he now saw the Potter kid in an entirely new light, Korval passed Susan the final image she would be reviewing today for the interview.

"It looks to me like two wizards either fighting over a wand or raising it together to cast a spell,” she pronounced definitively, handing the parchment back to Korval.

"The last question we would like to ask you today, Ms. Bones, is what you would have done differently in the exercise if you had it to do over again?" Auror Williamson looked keen to hear what she had to say.

Susan was a bit overwhelmed at first; she probably would have done a million things differently if she had another go at the exercise. "I certainly would have spent less time begrudging Harry's non-lethal force edict and thinking about ways to get around it without rousing his suspicion," she admitted.

Several members of the panel looked surprised at that statement, though Moody nodded. He did know Amelia Bones the best of the four of them; there were obviously hidden layers to that former Hufflepuff, too.

"From the standpoint of achieving our established objectives, though, I think the biggest changes I would have made would have been to how we teamed up and which objectives each team were assigned. Harry did most of that utterly randomly; we didn't have time to test for compatibility or compare strengths and weaknesses to put together well-balanced squads. He also knew I wanted to go to my Aunt, so he assigned the three of us, who were most familiar with one another, to the team responsible for getting to her. After talking a little bit to the other teams, if I had it to do over again, I would have made sure that everyone who went to the infirmary actually needed to go there. With the greater number of candidates to work with, I would have made more, smaller teams; so maybe multiple groups could have worked in concert to get to each target. I also would have potentially divided Harry, Daphne, and myself up among different teams. Or, if I didn't do that, I would definitely have assigned the three of us the hardest mission, which was to secure the Minister, not my Aunt.” She paused to conjure a glass of water. "Since I am so intimately aware of where my Aunt's office is located, as well as the various routes to get there, maybe it still would have made sense to keep me on that objective? But Daphne and Harry should have probably worked with the other teams. Maybe it would also have made sense to keep Daphne and Harry together, because of their synergy, but that is debatable given the enormity of their collective strengths. No matter what, though, all three of us shouldn't have been on a single team."

Satisfied with her response, and after reminding her that no decisions would be made until probably June at the earliest, they let her return to the applicant room. Auror Williamson followed her out, fetching Araminta for the panel.

*******************************  
Interview Subject: Araminta Varma

Araminta was definitely a bit anxious about the interview, but nothing prepared her for the reality. It was psychological torture thinly disguised as an audition. And, while she couldn't say for certain that she would have preferred to be waterboarded, she would have liked to have had the option. Maybe she actually wasn't cut out to be an Auror? She hadn't doubted herself this way in many years. Just as she was about to pull the plug on the proceedings, they told her that they had only one more question for her.

Williamson said, "We were very impressed by your wandless magic capability. As you can imagine, it is a highly prized skill that has the potential to save your life and the lives of others in the worst kinds of situations. Tell us, what made you decide to learn or realize your potential in this area?"

She was so unbelievably grateful for the reassurance that this day was almost over, it was embarrassing. She couldn't help but smile as she replied, "My father is from India, as you are likely aware. In most Eastern Magical traditions, there is considerably less emphasis on the use of a focus to channel magic. In fact, it is very common for all magical study done under the age of majority in India to be wandless. It is only after a level of proficiency and maturity is achieved that witches and wizards in these magical systems are introduced to the wands, staffs, and staves used in higher magical arts. Now, my father attended a British school in India, and he even attended Hogwarts for his Newt study, so he started using a wand at 11 and uses it fairly exclusively. Still, the wandless aspect of his magical education wasn't entirely absent. His family did teach him to do magic without a wand, something that was very much expected where he grew up. He in turn taught these skills to me and my siblings. I am hardly a master of the craft and can really only do a few simple spells reliably, but the knowledge that I am capable of performing magic without my wand has always served me well," she concluded.

They thanked her and escorted her out. She was free...free, and in desperate need of a drink. Nodding to the three remaining applicants, though she was fairly confident two of them had already been interviewed, she left, intent upon her local and a pint or two of sweet cider.

It was finally Harry's turn. He thought there was some inherent cruelty in saving him for last, and he was more than a little concerned about what they had in store for him as a result. He stood when they called his name, heading resolutely toward the door. He was heartened by the fact that, no matter what, at least he would be done within the next 30 minutes.

*******************************  
Interview Subject: Harry Potter

When Harry entered the room, all four panel members stood. He swore it was a bloody conspiracy! Self-conscious, he quickly sat in the center chair so the others would also resume their seats. He couldn't help but scowl at the fact that they had coerced him into a seat that was probably hexed with a truth jinx, placed him in front of the panel members like he was on trial, and forced him to have his back to the door.

"So," Auror Williamson got the Quaffle flying, "I have to ask, Lord Potter, what spell did you cast just after Ms. Bones set the communication bubble?"

"Please, call me Harry. It was Resisto Revelio," Harry responded, curious about why they were asking. It was very evident that the examiners had observed their performance in the exercise. Perhaps Susan's bubble had temporarily disrupted their feed?

"Constant Vigilance!" Moody bellowed, clapping. "It was a good decision, but you might want to put less power into it next time. Not only did it set off a Magical seismograph in the Ministry, but your opponents were at least partially alerted to your presence, because the cast was so strong they felt it."

Eyes wide, "Oh," Harry uttered, blushing deeply, he hadn't realized any of that. “I was just trying to ensure no would would be able to detect us with the revealing spell, no matter how hard they er...tried."

Auror Russell advised, "The sentiment is sound, but I would recommend getting a power baseline for the revealing spell from the average adult wizard and just taking it up a little from there. Your spell would still serve its purpose, but you wouldn't also undermine that purpose when casting."

Harry nodded, "Thank you." He wished he could take notes. That was a very wise suggestion and one he planned to start working on immediately.

The Academy instructor leaned over and handed Auror Williamson a galleon, admitting, "I thought he had cast that variation on the impervious charm that he used on the furniture in the testing room on their robes."

That was also a good idea, though Harry did not understand why the instructor had to pay the Auror a galleon. Had they made a bet on what spell he had used?

"Potter," Moody barked, "Have you ever been to the Ministry infirmary?"

"No, Sir," he responded, slightly concerned about where this line of questioning was going.

"Then how, pray tell, did you create the portkey this morning?"

"Well, Susan has been there, so she helped me visualize it," he responded vaguely.

"Did this 'visualization' involve Legilmency, perhaps?" Moody interrogated.

Harry could see that the other panel members thought Moody's paranoia had eclipsed his grasp on reality at this point. It would be easy to deny that he had even heard of the mind art, since 75% of the audience already believed that to be the case. With that scarred face bearing down on him while both eyes, one a grotesque caricature of the other, pinned him to the spot like a bug on the board of a junior school science fair project, he immediately confessed."Yes, but she gave me her permission, and all I saw was the main room she willingly showed me." He suddenly had a small amount of pity for the criminals that the famous Auror had helped put in prison.

There was a loud uproar among the panel members, and Harry actually heard Moody curse Dumbledore and Korval swear, "un-fucking-believable..." The general consensus was that it would have been difficult for him to have cheated on the written exam using this skill without being noticed, that Harry had not done so well on the exam vis-a-vis his established academic records to cause concern, and that it probably wasn't true anyway.

He didn't think knowing Occlumency or Legilmency was technically against the law, but using the latter at least, without permission, surely violated some statute as well as basic human decency. As they calmed down, Auror Russell spoke for the group, inquiring in a curt tone, "And just where exactly did a 17-year-old wizard learn a highly restricted mind art? Can you occlude as well?"

"I began studying Occlumency roughly two years ago, during my fifth year at Hogwarts." Russell shot her colleagues a look that quelled any additional outbursts, despite her own shock, so Harry could continue his story.

"What prompted you to study this obscure art?"

"You do know that Voldemort likes to possess people, right? Well, that is not something on my bucket list, so I looked into ways to protect myself. A few dusty tomes and a discussion with the headmaster later, and I started learning to occlude. When I was eventually afforded the opportunity to test my shields, I found I was rather pants at guarding my own mind, but I had a natural aptitude for getting into others'."

Seeing looks of distrust on several faces, he was quick to assure them. "I don't just go poking around inside other people's heads willy-nilly. Aside from the fact that I am sure it is illegal, I can barely keep my own thoughts straight, I don't need anyone else's."

"Did you stop studying Occlumency, then?" Korval asked.

"No," Harry replied. "Even with as poor at it as I am, there are benefits to practicing it. I sleep better, my memory is improved, my thoughts are more organized, and I am generally more focused."

"But it isn't enough to keep Voldemort from possessing you?” questioned Williamson.

"On it's own, most certainly not. However, my family magic, which I invoked over a year ago, is heavily invested in preserving the sanctity of both the body and mind of its vessel. Between my own capabilities and the protection from the ring, I feel pretty good about my chances of being able to withstand a possession attempt."

"Some people report 'side effects,' like hearing others' thoughts all the time from delving too deeply into Legilmency, do you think embracing the skill changed you?" inquired Russell thoughtfully.

"I don't believe it has in any fundamental way, though I did gain an involuntary ability to frequently discern when people are lying. It isn't as helpful as one might wish, since I have no idea what they might be lying about; and it isn't foolproof. I don't want you to get any crazy ideas that I am some kind of master practitioner, because I definitely am not. I can successfully legilmize someone, if they let me, is what it basically comes down to."

"Let's test your ability to tell the truth from lies. We are all going to make some outlandish statements, some of which will be true and some of which will be false. You tell us which one you think is which," declared Moody.

"We're going to do what?" demanded Williamson.

Moody spun to the tall wizard, "Do I have to make that a direct order, Senior Auror?"

"Uh, no sir," Williamson responded.

Turning back to Harry, "Do you need eye contact for this?"

"Er...no I don't believe so."

"Good, face the door," Moody directed in a brusque tone. Harry did as instructed.

Shrugging her shoulders, Rowena Russell started them off. "I've made love on the back of a muggle motorcycle."

Without any hesitation Harry said, "True." She nodded to her colleagues so they knew he had been correct, but Harry couldn't see her, as he had his back to the panel.

"I am a widower," Moody declared.

"False," was the rapid judgement. Moody nodded as well.

"I once got shot in the arse by a muggle gun when I was on assignment, and even with healing spells I couldn't sit comfortably for almost a month," Williamson blurted out.

"True." The resulting laughter gave away the fact that Harry's assessment had been correct.

"I have a mastery in Defense," Korval claimed.

"False," Harry declared. Korval confirmed for the group that indeed his mastery was in charms and not defense.

"Turn around, Potter," Moody ordered. "That was an impressive showing, however, I do blame you for the fact that I learned a few things about my fellow Aurors today that I could have happily remained ignorant of for the rest of my life."

"I am not super thrilled about having that knowledge either, Sir," Harry retorted, shooting looks at both Russell and Williamson. At least he wouldn't have either of them as professors if he made it to the Academy. In three years, he could probably get someone he trusted to agree to Obliviate him or learn how to suppress certain memories with Occlumency...surely before he had to work with either of them in a professional capacity provided the outcome of today's events were what he hoped.

"Last question," Korval announced. "The mission to secure the Minister or his office was the most difficult of the three by far given the necessity of going up to level 1, and the fact that we had the only obvious way there crawling with people. If you had been part of that team, what would you have done to achieve your objective?"

That was a tough question, but thankfully one Harry had been grappling with all afternoon, as he second-guessed his split-second decisions about the teams and mission assignments. "There is something that I would have suggested trying if I had been on that team, though there is no guarantee that the other members of the team would have agreed,” he caveated.

"After determining where everyone on the floor plate was located, we probably would have realized the lifts were not truly an option. Even if we had managed to take down the group that was guarding them, the fire fight would have attracted everyone else to that location. Because it is quite exposed with no cover, our success would have been fleeting. We would not have been able to withstand the onslaught without risking extensive injury or loss of life. Moreover, there was every possibility the lifts had been booby-trapped in some way. Since the Minister's office was only one floor up, the most obvious idea would have been to go through the ceiling of Level 2 to get to Level 1. Some initial reconnaissance would have needed to be conducted to make sure the team wouldn't be walking right into a trap. I thought maybe a half-powered piercing hex and an ocelle, or little eye spell, could do the job, as I wasn't sure if the wards on the Ministry would allow us to do any remote viewing with a longe oculi or a visus or observationis distant. Scrying could also have been an option with the right tools and people. If the move to the floor above had been deemed safe enough, the team could have then cast the topsy-turvy spell, sursum deorsums, on themselves - still disillusioned- so everyone would have been upside down on the ceiling and able to cut and climb through it and the sub flooring layer to get to the level above. It would probably have been best to do it right underneath the Minister's office, provided that was possible, and the location wasn't overrun by enemies on either floor."

The panel nodded, their own plans also trending in those directions along with the possibility of seeing how feasible it might be to try and traverse the distance between the floors from outside the window, understanding that the entire building was underground. The panel thanked Harry for his participation and indicated that decision owls would be sent in possibly late June. Harry thanked them for their time as well before practically running to the main room to see if the witches had waited. He was relieved to see both Daphne and Susan just outside.

He was sure he looked as exhausted and frazzled as the others. "Let's go home," he said. "McGonagall will let us all use her floo." With enthusiastic agreement, they left together for the Ministry's main entrance on level 8. Thank Merlin this day was finally over.

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to linuxrocs for being the first to leave a comment on this story. Thank you for your encouragement!
> 
> Please see other disclaimers and acknowledgements in earlier chapters.


	6. The Cost of Victory and Price of Defeat (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU- Harry and company’s time at Hogwarts is coming to an end, and the final battle with Voldemort is upon us. What will be cost of victory, and what will be the price of defeat?
> 
> Part 1 - There will be two more chapters in this Arc, as the story finally catches up with itself and leads into the events of After the End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER - This is the first chapter detailing the class of 1998’s final days of school, battle with Voldemort, and its aftermath. Chronologically this is the 7th Chapter, but it is the newest text. This is AU.

24 June 1998- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Gryffindor Common Room- 7:15pm

Massaging his temples in an attempt to stave off the worst of a migraine that had been threatening him all day, Harry cast a nostalgic eye around the red and gold common room that had been his home for the past seven years. Friday would be his last official day as a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, which was a simultaneously thrilling and terrifying prospect. He could see that same dichotomy reflected on many faces around him; it was the end of an era for the 7th years, and the world beyond these walls beckoned them. The months since the Auror exams had passed in a blur of revisions and tests as the 7th years had finally sat their N.E.W.T.s last week, a significant and culminating step toward the next phase of their lives as fully-qualified witches and wizards. A phase in which the war was looming, Lord Voldemort was saber rattling, and many believed an attack on a major wizarding population center was a matter of if, not when.

Harry was disappointed that his friendship with Daphne and Susan, which had been conceived in spell fire and custard during their candidate trials, hadn't translated to much inside the hallowed halls of the school. He and Susan at least exchanged friendly greetings once in a while, but Daphne had maintained her distance from both of them once she re-donned her green and silver robes. He supposed Hogwarts' house politics were as fraught as Wizengamot House politics, especially now, leading them each to slot neatly back into their respective friend groups as if they hadn't spent the best, worst day of their lives together. He consoled himself with the thought that everyone would be shedding their house affiliations for good within the next 48-hours, which might make a summer rendezvous possible.

None of that was to say that Harry wasn't happy with his Gryffindor housemates or his friends. On the contrary, he had been enjoying his time with not only Ron and Hermione, who had relaxed considerably now that her N.E.W.T.s were over, but also Neville and Dean. The latter appeared to have had a serious falling out with Seamus, over either Voldemort, or a girl, or both; Dean wouldn't talk about it, but it didn't look to Harry as though they would be making up any time soon. As he had personally always thought Seamus was a bit of a prat, he was hoping this development would actually be good for Dean. Neville, with whom the dark-skinned Gryffindor had grown quite close since their own entrance exam, was a true and faithful friend.

The Academy admission decisions hadn't been sent yet, though Harry was aware that some people had heard about their positions in other Ministry departments. For example, Hermione would be starting her job in the Magical Creatures Division on 1 July, while Parvati had not been hired into the Misuse of Magic office and was planning to pursue a clerking opportunity on the Alley. A few of his classmates had also received conditional job offers, like their Academy admissions would be, pending the outcome of their N.E.W.T.s. Privately Harry thought Daphne's comments during their exam day about the perils of Hogwarts communications were the main reason the Academy aspirants had yet to hear about their placements. It would be much more secure, or at least less obvious, if the owls were sent to individual residences after the school year ended. For his part, Harry was nervous but hopeful. He had done his best, and he believed that would be enough. He felt Daphne's and Susan's prospects were similarly promising. Merlin willing, they would only have to wait a few more days to find out.

Spotting Ron and Hermione stepping through the portrait hole, he waved. The two appeared to be arguing like usual. Ginny had told him that bickering was their way of flirting; Harry did not see the appeal, but to each their own. He was still trying to decide if he could muster the energy to get up from where he was sprawled when they approached, saving him the trouble. Ron sat on the floor in front of him, while Hermione forced him over so she could slide in beside him. The fact that the two of them could still fit side-by-side in these chairs like firsties amused Ron to no end.

"You look peaky," Hermione informed him, frowning and placing her hand on his forehead to gauge his temperature. It was cool to the touch, except near his scar, which was hot and enflamed. "You don't have a fever," she concluded tentatively, "Are you feeling alright?"

"Just a headache," he answered honestly. "I didn't sleep very well last night, so I am probably going to turn in here shortly."

"That sounds like an amazing idea," Hermione said, leaning back into the plush cushions. "I think I could fall asleep right here."

"You two are no fun!" Ron complained, tossing one of the decorative pillows from a nearby sofa at them. Harry deflected it back with an absent wave of his hand before it could hit them. Hermione was not pleased. "This is one of our last nights at Hogwarts ever- how could you possibly intend to sleep it away?"

"Easily, Ronald," she declared icily.

"Don't be like that, 'Mione," he plead. "It is just...this is one of our last opportunities to explore the school together, or hang out with our friends in the dorm, or even...go to the library," he forced out. Harry smirked, Ron must be really desperate for a walk to offer to go there.

Softening toward him, Hermione pledged, "We can do all of that after class tomorrow."

"What do we even have tomorrow, anyway?" questioned Harry, yawning. Ugh, he was knackered, and the pounding in his head was getting worse. He really needed to go to bed.

She had been prepared to scold him, but changed her mind when she saw him bring his hand to his head as he closed his eyes, against perhaps the light or sound in the room, she wasn't sure. "We all have Charms and Care of Magical Creatures, and you also have Divination while I have Ancient Runes," she responded quietly.

"Thanks," he murmured. Harry knew one class he wouldn't be attending tomorrow; he wasn't too concerned about it either, since surely Trelawny had already 'foreseen' his absence.

"How much packing do you have left?" She questioned, her tone just this side of accusatory. Ron ignored her, but Harry moved his hand back and forth to indicate he was about half done. "Don't leave it all until the last minute," she warned.

"Yes, Mum," Ron replied snarkily. Merlin, that boy was stupid. Yes, she had been nagging them a bit, but she wasn't wrong. Moreover, she fussed over them because she cared about them.

Harry planned to extricate himself before either one of them could work up a head of steam; he couldn't deal with their demented 'foreplay,' he thought Ginny had called it, whatever that meant. Heaving himself out of the chair, as their voices raised, he stumbled. Ron caught him before he could fall.

"Okay there, mate?" Ron asked, concerned, immediately abandoning his fledgling row with Hermione.

"Yeah," Harry responded, embarrassed. "I think I stood up too quickly. I'm fine now, though," he reassured before heading for the dorm, his four-poster calling to him like a siren.

Hermione and Ron engaged in a conversation of whispers and heated gestures out of Harry's line of sight before Ron trotted up behind him. "I think I am going to go up and shower, I got pretty filthy today in Herbology," he explained.

"Okay," Harry replied, slightly bewildered; it wasn't like Ron needed his permission. He proceeded to drag himself up the stairs, flight by flight. Why were the 7th years at the top anyway? He knew Hermione's Head Girl Suite was only two floors up. When they finally reached their room, Harry kicked off his trainers and laid on his bed, fully robed.

"Aren't you going to change?" Ron asked.

"In a bit," Harry replied sleepily, already more than halfway to Nod.

Shrugging, Ron gathered his toiletries. Harry seemed alright. He might as well actually shower since he had walked all the way up here. He certainly had no intention of going to bed yet. The night was still young.  
*********************************

25 June 1998- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - 6:45am

Spending a night reinforcing his Occlumency shields while sleeping soundly for more than 11 straight hours had done him a world of good, even if he had slept in his clothes. It didn't bother him the way it probably did other people, because he was used to doing it. The Dursleys had never ensured night clothes were part of Harry's limited wardrobe, and sleeping starkers in a cupboard with a bunch of spiders had never seemed like a particularly wise idea.

Stretching luxuriously, relishing the absence of a headache, he made for the showers. He could practically taste the tea and eggs in the Great Hall, suddenly craving a full English. He couldn't believe only two classes remained in his Hogwarts career. Well, he supposed there were actually three, but he wasn't one to get overly wrapped up in technicalities.

He pulled a piece of parchment and a quill out of his bag to start a to-do list as he waited in the common room for either Hermione or Ron to come downstairs. They had Hagrid right after breakfast, and the day seemed perfect for a double outdoor lesson. He must remember to write to the half-giant. He didn't want to risk losing touch with his first friend, the person who had introduced him to the magical world, now that they wouldn't be seeing each other every day. He also needed to finish packing, Hermione was right.

Letting his mind wander for a minute as a group of third year students stumbled blearily down the stairs to presumably head to breakfast, he considered whether he would receive a reply from Remus today. They had been tentatively talking around Harry's summer plans for several weeks, neither wanting to make any undue assumptions as to where Harry would be staying. Harry didn't want to impose on his honorary godfather, though he certainly wanted to see him. Remus appeared to have similar fears of inadvertently making unwanted demands on Harry's time, which had left the two of them hopelessly tiptoeing around each other and Harry's living arrangements after graduation. The previous year, after his obligatory two weeks at the Dursleys, he had spent the remainder of his summer at Grimmauld Place training with different members of the Order of the Phoenix and sorting out the Black Estate. He had zero intention of repeating either experience this year.

Before Harry had been able to settle too deeply back into compiling his task list, Ron's tall, red-haired visage appeared at the top of the final set of stairs leading to the common room. Harry couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the fact that the gangly wizard was ready before Hermione. Ron also seemed surprised at the witch's absence. "I was hungry," he explained by way of greeting as his long legs rapidly devoured the distance between the landing and Harry's table.

"Aren't you always?" The smaller brunette teased with a knowing grin as he re-packed his supplies and slung his bag over his shoulder.

Just as the two were set to head for the Great Hall, Hermione's rapid footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Seeing the two of them near the portrait hole, she gasped from behind, slightly out of breath, "I can't believe you gits were going to leave without me considering how often I have waited for you to get your lazy arses out of bed over the years!" She sounded genuinely affronted as she linked arms with them and pulled them into the corridor, both boys gaping at her use of language like plimpies out of water. Nearly collapsing in a fit of giggles in front of the Fat Lady, she crowed, "Your faces...it was like that time I punched Malfoy in the nose."

Once they were all back to rights, the trio ambled down the hall, arm in arm, their pace and sprawl no doubt annoying everyone behind them. "Do the two of you, who have witnessed me do some truly outrageous, not to mention illegal, things over the last seven years really think me so...miminy-piminy, such a good girl, that my use of the term 'arse' shocks you?" Hermione asked them, her effervescent mood from earlier suddenly turning quite serious.

"Well ...er... that is to say...I mean, uh...no?" Ron's inarticulate response sounded uncertain and reflected his fear of inadvertently hurting her feelings.

"Hermione," Harry replied with such warmth that she found she had to blink back a few tears, "You're more than just a 'good girl' to us, you're our best girl and best friend."

"That's right, 'Mione, you're the best," Ron repeated, relieved that Harry had happened upon the correct approach to resolve the odd tension. Witches were complicated, and Ron felt he had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing in any given encounter, despite his efforts to the contrary. Worse, his much maligned emotional limitations only allowed him a free pass every so often. He consoled himself with the thought that these days he at least recognized when he had inserted his foot in his mouth...well, most of the time, anyway.

Entering the Great Hall took on a special significance this morning: the ceiling a little brighter; the smell of the food more enticing. Harry let the sounds of the conversations from other tables drift over him, adding to the ambience. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of Harry, a regular configuration for the the trio at meals designed to shield their famous friend from unwanted attention and discourage unknown parties from trying to make casual conversation.

Harry was savoring his mushrooms, seasoned just how he liked them, when Ginny sat down across the table from him. She grunted something he assumed was supposed to be 'Good Morning,' so he responded in kind. She was not a morning person, which was well known in the Gryffindor dorms, as she was twice as likely to hex someone before her first cup of tea.

Glaring at her brother, she took two sausages and a cooked tomato from the center platter. "Morning, Gin Gin," he greeted her with obnoxious cheer. She responded with a two fingered salute before clutching her mug and drinking as if her life depended on it. Harry smiled to himself at the display, thinking someone's life surely did depend on it, but not necessarily hers.

Oblivious to the daggers shot in his direction by the sullen red head as she began cutting her meat with increasingly violent movements of her knife, Dean Thomas plopped down right next to her. Never let it be said that the man didn't belong in Gryffindor. "Morning, everyone!" He called to the table, receiving mostly mumbles back. Observing Ron, Harry, and Hermione arrayed on the opposite bench, he leaned in and asked quietly, "Who are we protecting Harry from today?"

"Millicent Bulstrode," was the immediate, unison response from his closest friends.

Harry, who had just taken a bite of toast, whipped his head around so fast he nearly choked. "What?!"

Ron looked guilty, and Hermione seemed apologetic. "We thought it would blow over by tomorrow, so there was no sense worrying you about it," she explained.

"Worry me about what exactly?" He demanded, his voice taking on a discernible edge.

Exchanging a look with each other over Harry's head, Ron began, "Well, it's like this. Bullstrode's brother is an Auror..."

"Okay," Harry prompted impatiently, having no idea where this might be going. He had always maintained a pleasantly neutral relationship with the...statuesque Slytherin.

"I guess your performance in the ah...practical portion of the auror exams garnered a lot of interest. You know they used crystals and pensieves to record the whole thing...those recordings have been making the rounds, apparently."

"But what does that have to do with Millicent?" Harry asked, still highly perplexed.

Ron sent a pleading look in Hermione's direction, so she picked up the tale. "I guess her brother was really impressed by you, and he shared his views with her. He might also have shown her a bit of the exercise," she said very quickly, "and now Millicent appears very invested in trying to..." her eyes got very wide as she panicked.

"Date you," Ron jumped to the rescue.

"Yes, she wants very badly to go on a ...date...with you, and we didn't think you were interested in ...um...dating...her, so..."

Harry didn't really see what the problem was; if she asked him out, he would politely decline. No one could deny his situation was exceptionally complicated right now, and he certainly didn't want to risk endangering anyone by dating them, even casually.

"I really don't think it would be a good idea for me to date anyone right now," Harry said, not seeing Ginny Weasley visibly react to his announcement. She seemed about to say something, but he continued to speak. "I can't believe that we had to take a magical oath not to reveal anything about the exams, but apparently any old Auror can look at recordings of them and do whatever they want with that information." He sounded angry. "Do you know what Daphne Greengrass had to say about all of this?" he finally asked.

"Not much, as I understand it," Hermione revealed. "She is bound by the same oath you are, after all. Plus, nothing that has come out has exactly hurt her reputation."

"Yeah," Harry smiled, looking lost in thought. "When it was all over she told an Auror to...well, she said something quite rude to him on my behalf."

Just then, a chime and rang in the background; so much for a leisurely breakfast. "Come on you lot, that's the bell. It's time for Care of Magical Creatures," Hermione announced, herding them toward the exit and outside.

*********************************  
25 June 1998 - N.E.W.T.-Level Care of Magical Creatures - Hogwarts Grounds- 9:00am

Wearing his traditional Moleskin overcoat, despite the June heat, Hagrid welcomed the students as they scurried across the grounds like a line of black ants descending on a picnic. Hagrid's uneven instruction in his first few years as a professor, with lessons oscillating between ridiculously dangerous and mind-numbingly boring, meant that his 7th year class had dwindled to a healthy contingent of Gryffindors, a few intrepid Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and a single Slytherin: the aforementioned Millicent Bulstrode. Her family apparently bred thoroughbred Winged-racehorses, mostly the speedy Grampian and native Aethonan. And, if the rumors were to be believed, they also ran a number of boarding stables and racetracks. Since her brother had not gone into the family business, they were likely depending on Millicent to take over someday, hence her choice of elective.

The large girl, who easily had half a foot on Harry in height, waved and fluttered her eyelashes at him. Ron blocked his view when she started unbuttoning her robes, and the Gryffindors closed ranks around him. Harry shrugged and turned his attention to Hagrid.

"C'mon! Gather round, ev'ryone," He boomed. "Yeh were me very firs' group o' students, an' as yeh may remember, yer firs' lesson was on hippogriffs, when yeh met good ol' Buckbeak. T'day, yer las' lesson with me," he choked out, tears beginning to leak out of the corners of his beetle-black eyes, "will be a two fer one." Pulling himself together, he motioned for them to follow him to the edge of the forest.

"This 'ere is an Augurey, also known as an Irish Phoenix," he told them gesturing to what appeared to be a small, greenish-black vulture, at least from what little of it they could see nesting inside a tear-shaped pod amid a large growth of bramble and thorns.

"He's very shy and on'y flies in heavy rains, see. Otherwise, he stays hidden in his nes', as he is now. The Augury is a native o' the British Isles an' parts o' No'thern Europe. It eats bugs an' fairies an' the like. Now mos' of yeh 'ave heard of the Augury cuz folks used ter believe tha' its cry fer'told death." At that very moment a low, heart-rending sound erupted from the bird, causing the entire class to jump back in fright.

"Hagrid," Seamus asked, terrified, "Is it's cry really an omen of death?" The Irishman's behavior of late had not endeared him to his housemates, so his query was met with much scorn from the group; more than one calling him a coward or suggesting he go find Trelawney so they could compare omens.

"No, Finnigan," the half-giant reassured him. "'It was discovered almos' 200 years ago tha' the bird sings when rain is comin'." Seamus looked relieved, if not a little irritated with his classmates.

"Now, I tol' yeh I'd intr'duce two new creatures t'day." Hagrid leaned down over a crate he had placed by the stand of trees closest to their make-shift classroom and pulled out a small glass jar.

Returning to his place at the front of the group, he held it up to show them. "See, this little feller 'ad a pretty serious infestation o' Chizpurfles when I firs' found 'im nestin' 'ere." This announcement caused an even more pronounced reaction from the crowd than the Augury's cry. Either unaware or unheeding of his audience's revulsion, he continued, handing the jar to Neville to look at and pass around. "Chizpurfles feed on magic. They're attracted ter crups an' Auguries like Archie, 'ere. These little buggers also attack magical objects like wands an' dirty cauldrons. They'll chew all the way through ter the core o' a wand if yeh let 'em. Professor Snape brewed a potion ter treat Archie, but I saved a few specimen so yeh could take a look-see at the pests. I've bin feedin' 'em tiny drops o' potion, but they can get very resistan' like if they've engorged on magical substances."

When the jar reached Harry, he could see that they were tiny crab-like bugs with what looked like large fangs for teeth. He considered that they were probably the equivalent of magical fleas and termites all rolled into one.

Hagrid lectured for a while longer on what one should do if they thought their house had Chizpurfles before the Augury's prediction came true. The clouds opened up and poured, soaking all the students. Many quickly cast rain shields and various types of water repelling and water resistant charms on themselves and their robes, but they would still need to dry off before their next class. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shouted their goodbyes as they headed in for Charms, vowing to visit him in his cabin that evening for a proper farewell. He waved at all of them, tears blending with raindrops. As he collected his supplies for his next class, the Augury burst from his nest and took to the sky.  
*********************************

25 June 1998- N.E.W.T.-Level Charms -Hogwarts Castle- 11:00am

The students who had come in from outside were no longer dripping everywhere, as by the time they reached the Charms corridor they had all cast drying charms on themselves and each other. Indeed, Hermione's bushy mane was exceptionally voluminous following Ron's enthusiastic application of assicco.

Once the class before them, 2nd year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, had fled the room, the 7th years quietly filed inside. It was a relatively large class, as most students aspired to achieve a N.E.W.T. in Charms given the subject's wide-ranging applications across numerous career fields. Further, Professor Flitwick's genial nature coupled with his rigorous teaching style enabled most of their year to obtain at least an Acceptable of their O.W.L., making them eligible for N.E.W.T-level study.

The small but formidable wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk, addressed the group as they claimed their seats. "The spell I am going to introduce to you in your final period with me is a highly advanced protective charm," he announced.

The interest in the room was palpable, concentrated silence broken only by the occasional sounds of rustling parchment and students shifting in their seats in anticipation. The Head of Ravenclaw House was a notable dueler and acknowledged master of the arcane, any advanced knowledge he would be imparting to them would surely be very valuable in the future.

"This charm is a manifestation of positive emotion, a projection that can serve as both guardian and shield. I am, of course, talking about the Patronus charm."

Murmurs broke out among the assembled students. Everyone knew the charm was notoriously difficult to cast, did Flitwick really think any of them would manage in the hour before lunch? They all knew Lord Potter could cast a fully corporeal patronus; most had seen him do it with their own eyes on the quidditch pitch when he was a mere 13 years of age.

Professor Flitwick quickly regained their attention, "In its incorporeal form, the charm typically produces an indistinct, silvery shield, which can resemble a semi-transparent cloud, like so." The diminutive professor moved his wand in a circular pattern causing a ghostly mist to pour from its tip and mushroom into a visible barrier several feet in front of him. "A fully corporeal patronus takes the shape of a spirit animal. Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it. Lord Potter," the charms master called to Harry, "If you would be so kind as to demonstrate."

Harry stood and inclined his head before non-verbally casting the charm, employing the same circular wrist movement Flitwick had previously. The class gasped as a shining, nearly blinding, silver animal emerged from his wand: a stag. The creature was so solid, its hooves made an audible clicking sound on the floor when it trotted over to the Professor who clapped joyfully before reaching out to pat its head. "Oh, well done!" When the guardian returned to Harry, he dismissed it, as there was nothing there for it to protect anyone from.

The Charms professor thanked Harry before continuing his lecture. "The incantation is 'Expecto Patronum,' and the accompanying wand movement is spiral, as I am sure many of you observed. The most critical component of this spell, however, is the emotion you imbue it with." This statement prompted confused looks from several students, though not from anyone who had been a member of the DA. "The caster must concentrate fully on a single, very happy memory; let those feelings of hope and joy associated with it fill them up; and then maintain that focus as they speak the incantation and perform the spell." Flitwick ended his explanation by conjuring his own patronus, which was quite fittingly, a raven.

As the professor allowed them to begin practicing, he was taken aback at how many in the class could already produce a corporeal guardian. While the shiny silver otter gamboling around Ms. Granger was not such a shock, he had not anticipated Seamus Finnegan's fox, Ron Weasley's Jack Russell Terrier, or Ernie MacMillan's boar. However, as he caught a glimpse of Harry Potter's proud smile at the beautiful display, it all fell into place. The Gryffindor had obviously taught them, and his results were impressive. This was tangible proof that Potter's underground study group was at least partly responsible for the fact that the students in front of him had received the highest number of 'Outstandings' on their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s of any year group at Hogwarts in nearly 30 years, despite the inconsistency in their instruction in the subject.

Potter shared a quick look with his professor, who nodded, as both began making the rounds to correct pronunciation and wand movements as well as remind students to select and affix a happy memory in their minds as they cast.

The small professor stopped to observe when the Potter Lord approached the Longbottom Heir. Neville had grown by leaps and bounds since his first year, but this charm still clearly eluded him. The strapping young man could reliably produce a shield patronus, but a corporeal animal remained beyond his grasp. Harry spoke quietly to the other wizard before pausing mid-sentence to seemingly consider something before proceeding delicately with his explanation. Neville appeared shocked at one point during Harry's recitation, but quickly re-focused on what the shorter wizard was saying. Flitwick found himself exceptionally curious about what the two were discussing as he resumed his circuit of the room.

Forty-five minutes later, every 7th year was now capable of producing a concentrated shield, even those who had initially only been able to create a silvery mist. Flitwick looked at the clock and was about to tell everyone to pack up their things when he heard Longbottom authoritatively pronounce, "Expecto Patronum!" A huge bear, nearly as dazzling as Potter's stag, took shape in front of him. He looked completely astonished. "I did it," he stated in disbelief. "I actually did it!" He shouted, the enormity of the achievement finally hitting him. Abandoning protocol, he turned and hugged Harry, lifting the petite wizard off the ground in his exuberance.

Slightly embarrassed, but equally delighted at Neville's hard won success, Harry patted him on the shoulder and told him, "I knew you could do it," the conviction in his voice unmistakable.

"10 points to everyone who produced a corporeal patronus and 5 points to those who were able to make a solid shield," The Ravenclaw Head declared as they collected their belongings and stood to depart the Charms classroom for the last time. "You were an excellent N.E.W.T. class, and I wish you all the very best in your chosen careers, whatever they may be."

As they walked past him out the door, Professor Flitwick requested Harry stay behind for a moment. He waved Ron, Neville, and Hermione on, as the three lingered, obviously preparing to wait for him. "I'll see you in the Great Hall in a bit," he informed them.

As the trio closed the door behind them, Flitwick turned to Harry, "Please take another 25 points for your exceptional instruction. You should feel extremely proud, as I have never had so many students in one of my graduating classes able to perform that spell."

Blushing deeply at the professor's words, Harry mumbled modestly, "It wasn't really...I mean, they did all the work."

"True," Flitwick acknowledged, "But one teacher to another, I think we can both agree that the way material is presented and explained to students can very often mean the difference between success and failure." He was silent for a second before plunging ahead, "I confess to being incredibly interested in knowing what you said to Heir Longbottom before he managed his bear. Obviously, I will respect your privacy if you don't wish to share," the half-Goblin added to ensure the young Lord did not feel pressured.

Harry took a deep breath, seeing no reason to keep it a secret. "I suspected that Neville was struggling with the very same problem that I had faced when I was learning the charm: not being able to come up with a sufficiently happy memory. He and I have both lived lives colored by tragedy due to the actions of Voldemort and his followers. So, I shared my technique with him. The memory that I used to power my first patronus, and one I have certainly turned to when I needed to conjure Prongs in a dangerous situation, isn't a memory at all. It is more of a construct or a fantasy; a memory I *wish* I had with my parents. I thought Neville, whose parents don't even recognize him when he visits them, might also be able to fabricate a powerful vision of what might have been and use it to fuel his patronus. It seems I was correct."

The professor appeared both emotionally touched and intellectually intrigued. In a voice that was even squeakier than usual, he thanked Harry for his candor. As the Gryffindor turned to depart for lunch, the Charms master told him, "Lily Evans was one of my favorite students, you know. I've always believed that, without the burden of the war and its politics, she would have become a Charms Mistress. She was brilliant and kind, and it was no wonder that your father was drawn to her right away. I am sure you have heard enough stories to know that those feelings were not mutual, at least not at first. You have often reminded me of her over the years, but perhaps never more than you did today. Lord Potter, Harry, please don't hesitate to send me an owl from time to time. I maintained a robust correspondence with your mother until she went into hiding, and I would be honored if we could remain in touch. Despite having the soul of a teacher," he teased, "I know you will take the Auror Academy by storm."

Before he could think about it too closely, Harry embraced his professor. "Thank you, for everything, Sir," he finally said, though the words seemed inadequate.

Wiping his eyes, he made his way to the Great Hall. He noted when he entered that the space between Ron and Hermione and across from Neville had been saved for him. He really did have the best friends, family really, that a wizard could ask for.

*********************************  
25 June 1998- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Corridor - 12:53pm

They broke off in different directions after a brief lunch: Neville to the Greenhouses to check on a special project from Sprout he had been working on all term; Hermione to Ancient Runes; Ron to laze about in the common room with the other 7th years who had not sat their N.E.W.T. in a second elective, by choice or because of a poor showing on their O.W.L.s.; and Harry ostensibly to Divination. Not wanting Hermione to get even a whiff of his less than scholarly intent, he dutifully headed toward the North Tower, thinking that he might try to persuade Ron to go exploring with him or visit the Room of Requirement before he committed to packing his trunk.

As he heard the bell, he assured himself that Hermione was firmly ensconced with Professor Babbling for the next two hours and would hopefully never know that he had decided to skip the last class of his Hogwarts career. Just before reversing course to head back toward Gryffindor Tower, he felt a slight twinge of guilt. Should he just go to the lesson? If he hurried, he wouldn't even be that late. Then he thought of the endless spiral staircases and that ridiculous silvery ladder; of the stuffy room behind the trap door with its cloying incense and pitying looks interspersed with barely veiled predictions of his death, and he could no longer be arsed to care. Practically skipping back to the Gryffindor dorms, he couldn't wait to hang out with Ron for a bit, just the two of them, like old times.

After politely offering the Fat Lady's portrait the password, 'Gillyweed,' he stepped through only to be greeted by a most unexpected and disturbing sight. Ron Weasley, one of his best friends, who he had up to this very moment been quite convinced was carefully planning how to ask out his other best friend without damaging their relationship, was doing some frankly obscene things with none other than Lavender Brown right in the middle of the common room. He didn't know if he was more shocked by the fact that that meant Lavender had also decided to skip Divination or that he now knew what color knickers she was wearing.

Immediately averting his gaze, Harry couldn't decide whether to head back out through the portrait hole or run upstairs. "Harry," Ron exclaimed, after the two had presumably managed to extricate themselves from their earlier activities, "I thought you had Divination."

Avoiding eye contact, and praying that Lavender was using the time to make herself more...presentable, Harry replied, "I didn't feel like climbing all the way up there so she could predict my death on such a nice day."

"Right," Ron said, still sounding a bit embarrassed, "I don't blame you, mate."

"Okay," Harry said awkwardly, "I'm just going to go upstairs and start packing...or maybe go visit Hagrid."

"Harry, wait!" Ron called, though the raven-haired wizard was still rooted to his spot in front of the door, his back to the couple. "Are you going to tell Hermione?" The red head sounded desperate.

Unable to stop himself, he spun around, relieved to note that Lavender was now wearing everything but her robes. "Don't you think you should tell her?" Despite flushing down to his toes, he still looked Ron in the eye when he stated flatly, "It seems like you and Lavender are pretty serious."

"Lav and I are just friends, Harry."

At his look of disbelief, Lavender stepped up beside Ron, "Friends with ...benefits, my Lord." Even Lavender couldn't prevent her cheeks from blushing red as she continued to defend the situation. "Ron and I understand each other, and no one is laboring under any misconceptions or being forced to offer more than they're willing to give. We like each other, and we are highly compatible." She put an almost salacious emphasis on the word before remembering who she was talking to and why. "No one has the right to judge us," She finished passionately.

"Whatever makes you happy, I suppose," Harry relented. "But maybe don't um...deepen your understanding of one another in the middle of the common room next time? And, if you like each other, why keep it a secret?"

Ron was blushing now, too, "Yeah, sorry about that, Seamus is doing who knows what in our room, and there's a spell on the girls' dorms that makes it so I can't go into Lavender's. We ah...thought we had a little bit before anyone came back." Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, "Lav's parents are exploring a betrothal contract for her, so she wanted to sow a few wild oats, first, as the saying goes. As for Hermione, how do you think she would react?"

"I don't know, Ron, but neither do you, since you have been hiding something important to you from both of us. How long has this been going on, anyway?"

"Since Samhain," he admitted, and Harry thought that was the first time he had ever heard Ron refer to the holiday as anything other than Halloween. He absently wondered if that was Lavender's doing, too.

"I'm going to go for a walk," Harry finally announced, "Maybe visit Hagrid before it gets too late." He realized that he was being a bit of a hypocrite since he too had been conspiring to hide something from Hermione to avoid a scolding, though he wasn't sure skipping a class was on quite the same scale as what Ron had been doing. Still, there were obviously many sides to this issue that he wasn't privy to, and not a single one of them was really his business when it came down to it. Lavender was right, who was he to judge? Throwing his friend a bone, he said, "Do you want to come?"

Shooting Lavender an apologetic look, which she promptly waved off, Ron replied, "I'd like that."

The two headed out into the corridor together, Ron slinging his arm over Harry's shoulder which caused the smaller wizard to stumble at the added weight. They both laughed as they headed outside. It really was a beautiful day. Harry was sure that tea and rock cakes with Hagrid would put everything into perspective for them.

*********************************  
90 minutes later...Leaving Hagrid's Hut

"I've got to go," Harry said suddenly, leaping up from his seat and startling Fang who had been drooling on his leg while napping away the hot afternoon.

"He doesn't want Hermione to know he didn't go to Divination," Ron confided, laughing at how ridiculous that sounded. They were after all fully qualified wizards and grown adults; Harry was a ranking member of the wizarding peerage, for Merlin's sake, but neither one of them relished a lecture from their studious friend if they could avoid it.

That wasn't to say Hermione spent all her time telling them off; after all, as they had discussed that very morning, she was a most excellent partner in crime when the situation called for it. Rather, she had strong opinions about certain things, including academics, and she wasn't afraid to call either one of them on their nonsense if she felt they had done something unnecessarily foolish or risky.

Ron resented this tendency far more than Harry, who had never had anyone show that kind of care toward him before he had met her at 11. There were certainly times he didn't particularly appreciate it, however, most of the time the love he knew drove her concern made him feel warm and safe and content. Regardless, he rushed toward the North Tower, because while it might make him feel loved, he still didn't actively seek a tongue lashing from her.

As he reached the base of the spiral staircase, leaning on the rail to catch his breath, Professor Trelawney suddenly emerged from the shadows, her voice as soft and misty as ever. "My dear boy, the Fates bid I seek you out to return this to you. It will be a valuable guide to you in the coming years." The innumerable bangles on her wrists clanged together as she handed over the Natal astrology chart he had spent nearly the entire Spring term perfecting.

When it was assigned, Harry had been convinced he was going to have to pick a random time of day to anchor his chart. By happy coincidence, however, Neville's grandmother had known exactly when he was born on July 31st, as she had been visiting with her new grandson at precisely that moment. Lily, Alice, Frank, and James had all been quite close, so of course James had immediately informed his friends (and the rest of the ward) of the birth of his heir, as they were just down the hall following the birth of theirs. Neville had a picture of the two of them together in one of his albums when he was only a day old, and Harry perhaps an hour, which had prompted him to reach out to his Gran on Harry's behalf.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, as he accepted the chart from her ring encrusted hand, relieved she didn't seem angry that he had skived off her class. She still resembled a large glittering insect, with immense glasses, excessive jewelry, and a mountain of shawls and scarves. Her already thin form was somehow diminished outside her domain. He considered making excuses to her about his absence, but decided it would only be compounding his transgression if he lied. As he turned to go, "Bye then," a harsh voice spoke up behind him:

"Three 'Crux are the crux."

Trelawney was now sat on the bottom stair, rigid, her eyes unfocused and her mouth sagging open.

"Bloody Hell," Harry said to himself.

Her eyes started to roll, like she was having a seizure. It was a very unpleasant deja vu.

"One has already succumbed;

Ink bled dry in venomous lies.

Another will soon face ejection,

From a Tool of Resurrection.

The Final is be-headed by a New Village,

While headed to the School Village,

Where they will try and pillage,

But for a magical afflux.

The One with more than equal power,

And right of Conquest

Will die by a dark hand in his darkest hour,

Unless...

He is hallowed in the Hallows:

One a spoil

One a boon

One a bequest.

Only then will His hand mete out Justice, Death's.

From which there is no flight.

Yet, Fate's chosen will fight,

And may still prevail,

Though he has seen beyond the Veil.

He'll send Fractured Souls to the abyss,

With fractured bones that will persist;

But survive a Curse as black as night,

To unleash a Purifying Light.

The Rest of the Future remains untold,

But Fortune has always favored the Bold.

Three 'Crux are the Crux..."

Trelawney's head fell forward on her chest, the dissonant sound of her chains and beads echoing as the last words of the prophecy died on her lips. She grunted like the air had been knocked out of her. Then, as Harry approached to ensure she was alright, her head popped up suddenly.

"My apologies," she said, "I appear to have drifted off for a moment." Just as when she had prophesied Voldemort's return, she clearly had no recollection of this prediction. She stood and met his emerald eyes with her own enormous, glowing orbs. "Until we meet again, fair fortune be yours," she told him as she began making her way back up to her tower...as though she hadn't once again potentially altered the course of his life.

Harry stood paralyzed in the deserted corridor, chest tight and mind whirling, "If only I hadn't skipped class," he thought before heading toward Gryffindor Tower.

***  
To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to linuxrocs and FotoDi for their amazing comments. Thank you for your insights and encouragement!
> 
> Many descriptions of classes, professors, patronuses, and the like have been drawn directly from or inspired by Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Magical creature information was drawn from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.


	7. The Cost of Victory and Price of Defeat (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 in the Final Battle Arc. It’s about to get real, the prophecy is coming into play. What will be the cost of victory, and what will be the price of defeat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER - This is the second chapter detailing the class of 1998’s final days of school, battle with Voldemort, and its aftermath. Chronologically this is the 8th Chapter, but it is the newest text. This is AU.

~Previously..."...as though she hadn't once again potentially altered the course of his life. Harry stood paralyzed in the deserted corridor, chest tight and mind whirling, "If only I hadn't skipped class," he thought before heading toward Gryffindor Tower.~

*********************************  
25 June 1998- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Gryffindor Tower- 3:32pm

In a complete daze, Harry found himself face-to-face with the Fat Lady once again that day, with absolutely no recollection of his trek across the castle. The woman in the portrait was getting annoyed with him. "Password," she demanded in the tone of someone who did not appreciate having to repeat themselves.

"Gillyweed," he croaked, his mind heavily preoccupied with Trelawney's words. What did they mean? Would he die? Would he triumph? Could the outcome still go either way as with her previous prediction concerning the confrontation between himself and Voldemort? He was inclined to just pretend his encounter with the batty divination professor had never happened; after all, wasn't it precisely because everyone had taken her previous words as incontrovertible that the last 17 years had played out as they had? Self-fulfilling prophecies being essentially guaranteed if one gave the pronouncements even a second of thought or an ounce of weight. And yet, her rhyming declarations had etched themselves in his mind and perhaps on the very fabric of his soul. He couldn't stop turning the phrases over in his head, even as tried with all his considerable will to forget they were ever uttered.

He supposed he must have stood there without going into the common room for some time. The next thing he knew the Fat Lady's frame was clipping him painfully on the arm, nearly causing him to drop his chart, but successfully breaking him from his stupor. He glared at her as he stepped through the entrance, rubbing the place he was certain a bruise was now forming. She glared right back, slamming her portrait shut behind him with significant force.

"What did you say to the Fat Lady, Harry?" asked Dean. "She didn't seem best pleased with you."

"I apparently didn't come inside fast enough for her," he groused. "I think she just wants us all to leave for the summer so she and her friend Violet can go back to drinking with those monks of the fourth floor."

Dean nodded, chuckling, as Harry headed for their dorm. He needed to pack his things before leaving Saturday morning. While he planned to apparate from outside the wards rather than subject himself to an 8 hour train ride, he still didn't want to have to worry about doing it the night of their graduation feast or rushing to finish the following morning. Additionally, the mindless task was just what he needed to distract himself from the events of the last 20 minutes.

As he crossed the threshold into their shared dorm, he saw that Seamus had the curtains around his bed closed, a silencing charm wrapped around it tightly like a boa constrictor, preventing any sound from escaping. Neville was also packing, though he seemed to be having a tough go of it. There were books and clothes and sweets strewn everywhere. It looked like a tornado had hit his corner of the room, or his wardrobe had vomited its contents all over his bed and the floor. Seeing Harry's confusion, Ron explained, "Packing spell gone awry." The red head was sitting in the middle of his own four-poster bed playing chess against himself.

"You okay, Neville?" asked Harry, a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah," The Longbottom Heir responded sheepishly. "I've never got the hang of that spell...Gran makes it look so easy. I suppose this is what I get for trying to take a shortcut," he concluded, gesturing to the mess around his area.

"Do you want some help?" inquired Harry, sympathetically.

"No, that's alright. Thanks, though," Neville replied. He looked up suddenly from his efforts to re-organize his chocolate frog cards, as if something had only just occurred to him. "Unless it's bothering you, in which case I'll.."

"No, no," Harry was quick to reassure the other wizard. "I just thought I would offer."

Ron was snickering at them both, something he had occasion to do when Neville's upbringing and awkward adherence to protocol reared its head in the casual dorm environment, especially when faced with the divide between what was expected of Harry and Harry's own natural inclinations from his House Elf-like upbringing. Neville had put his foot down hard with all of them in their first year, even now unbeknownst to the green-eyed wizard, when he had caught Harry cleaning up after them in the bathroom. It had been very effective, if only because none of them had known the pudgy, clumsy wizard had it in him at 11. "The Earl of Arundel and future Duke of Norfolk should not be cleaning your toothpaste out of the sink, Finnigan, or picking up your dirty socks off the floor, Weasley. Are we clear?"

The rest was, as they say, history. And, if you were to ask the house elves responsible for the tower, they would be the first to tell you that the dorm was possibly the cleanest in the history of Gryffindor boys' dorms, rarely requiring more than a quick dust and wipe down from the elves.

Deciding he had dallied long enough, Harry set his chart on his bedside table, and started sorting through the clothes in his trunk and armoire. He set aside pajamas and outfits for both Friday and Saturday, hanging them in the cupboard so he wouldn't accidentally pack them away. He also reminded himself to stop putting his dirty things in the magical hampers in their room so he didn't inadvertently leave anything behind. Since he had already rid himself of his Dursley castoffs, as he would never be going back there, there really weren't many items to work with. Still, he made several piles, trying to determine if he should donate his school robes or just remove the crests. He frowned when he realized how depressingly little he had grown out of this year.

Debating whether to put his books on the bottom of the trunk or on top of his clothes, he pulled his photo album out of the drawer of his nightstand. Sticking his hand deep into the nearly empty trunk, his fingers caught on the soft fabric of his invisibility cloak. They had had little reason to use it this year, what with their focus on various 7th year projects and exams. As he pulled it out without attracting anyone's attention, he let it pool casually at the bottom of his wardrobe. An insane whim had just struck him like lightening, the force of its draw nearly a compulsion. He quickly stacked his books inside his trunk, ensuring they were positioned so none of their covers or spines were being bent. He tucked most of his clothes and knickknacks around them, including a framed photo of Ron, Hermione, and himself from earlier this year, the snitch from Gryffindor's Quidditch Cup victory in 3rd year, and the wooden flute Hagrid had carved for him in first year. Eventually, he placed his prized album on top and latched the trunk closed, hitting it with several advanced security and locking spells. Constant Vigilance, indeed. Now it was time to indulge the crazy impulse that wouldn't let him go.

Harry crouched between his bed and armoire, tucking the silvery cloak carefully into his robes. He then walked into the loo connected to their room, casting a quick drying charm inside one of the shower stalls before stepping in, just in case. He quickly stripped to his boxers, shoes, and vest before strategically folding the invisibility cloak and pulling it around himself. He tucked the folded bottom hem into his trousers as he put them back on and buttoned his school uniform shirt over the portions draped across his chest, affixing the heirloom unobtrusively under both the interlining of his tie and collar at the back of his neck. He pulled his sweater over his head, obscuring any odd shape that might otherwise have been visible from the outside before finally draping his Gryffindor robes over the entire ensemble. Exiting the stall, he glanced in the mirror, satisfied that no one would be the wiser to the addition to his uniform. He couldn't explain why he had just done what he had done, but he had long ago stopped questioning his instincts, no matter how odd.

When a needle sharp pain seared across his scar, stopping him in his tracks about halfway across the room, it wasn't too difficult for him to imagine why he might have felt subconsciously driven to make a contingency plan. His hand came involuntarily to his scar, but he instantly brought it back to his side, digging his nails into his palm as the mark flared again, hoping no one noticed his strange behavior. What was Voldemort up to now? If Harry had to categorize the Dark Lord's mental state, an occupation he generally tried to avoid, he would say the evil git was planning something. Great. Should he report this to Dumbledore? As the pain in his head continued to build, at times burning almost past his ability to endure, he decided to lay down instead. He lacked the necessary details to meet even the flimsiest duty-to-warn threshold. What would he tell the headmaster? My scar hurts, and I think Voldemort is planning something. No kidding. It sounded ridiculous even to him. He closed his eyes and hoped he would feel better before dinner, since he doubted Ron or Hermione would be too keen on letting him skip a meal. So much for a headache-free day.

*********************************  
5:15pm

An indeterminate amount of time later, Harry sat up in bed. He noted that someone had closed the curtains around him, probably Neville, so that he could sleep undisturbed. The rings on his hand were so hot, he was surprised his finger didn't come away blistered where it had brushed the metal.

Both the Potter and Black Family Magics had repeatedly tried to sever or at least insulate him from his bizarre connection with the Dark Lord, but to little avail. He knew these Magics had enhanced his Occlumency shields and that the rings and what they represented would, hopefully, prevent a full-scale possession. However, their ability to buffer the onslaught from his scar appeared negligible.

Since his vision was no longer blurred, he seemed to be in somewhat better shape than when he had gone to sleep. It was now a dull ache; insistent, but not completely incapacitating. He opened the shroud around his bed, surprised to find the room empty. Even Seamus had apparently lifted his self-imposed exile, pout really, as he was probably still angry at them for their words this morning during Care of Magical Creatures.

Frowning, he took out his pocket watch, relieved to see it was only a quarter after five. He felt somewhat guilty about the fact that the others had no doubt abandoned their pursuits in the dorm because of him. He needed no further confirmation than the fact that many of Neville's things still covered his bed and parts of the floor. Seeing the lid to the other wizard's trunk wide open, Harry pulled the secondary wand he had acquired this Spring from its place at his ankle and flicked it sharply at the disorganized jumble. "Pack!" he pronounced crisply, as Neville's belongings zoomed toward his trunk from various places around the room and neatly arranged themselves inside it. That was one less thing to feel bad about, anyway.

Just as he was about to go downstairs to see what the others had got up to while he was resting, a Great Horned Owl with mottled brown feathers flew through the open window and perched on his bed. This wasn't Remus' normal owl, but he might have sent it from the owl post office while in town. Relieving the owl of its burden, which upon closer inspection appeared to be a small package, he was startled by the bird's immediate departure. He hadn't even had time to dig up an owl treat. Naturally, the package was accompanied by a letter. To his complete surprise, it turned out the missive was not from Remus at all, but Gringotts. Even more shocking, the letter was signed by Ragnuk XXIII, the Goblin King. Trying not to hyperventilate, because Harry honestly couldn't help but think, "Fuck my life," he watched as a large gold ring inset with an engraved black stone fell from the folds of the letter onto his duvet. It looked like a House ring, albeit a bit gaudier than the signets for either House Potter or House Black. Refocusing on the letter, Harry read:

"RAGNUK THE TWENTY-THIRD, by the Grace of Lady Magic, of the Nidavellir, and other realms, King Head of the Consortium and Defender of Magic To all Lords, Being and Beast, and all other Our Subjects whatsoever to whom these Boons shall come, Greeting!

Know Ye that We of Our especial grace, certain knowledge, and mere motion does this Boon advance, create, and prefer Our right trusty and entirely beloved magical cousin His Grace Harry Potter-Black to this Hallowed Artefact, to which he has claim by right of Peverell Blood and Slytherin Conquest. And for Us, Our heirs, and successors do appoint, give, and grant unto him said Artefact, for him to enjoy and use all privileges and advantages, unto him for his life. In Witness whereof We have caused these Our Letters to be made Patent. Witness Ourself at Gringotts, on the 25th day of June, in the 21st year of Our Reign."

More than a little confused, he sat frozen until his scar gave a particularly painful twinge. Unsure of what else to do, he stuffed the ugly ring in the pocket of his trousers and tried not to temp Fate by wondering if this day could get any stranger. As he unlocked his trunk to hide the Goblin Letter of Patent, he supposed, under some clothes, he dropped to his knees. What had she said? "One a Spoil, One a Boon, One a Bequest..." The Goblin King had referred to the ring several times in his letter as both an 'Artefact' and a 'Boon.' Merlin, and the words of the new prophecy had also contained something about 'right of conquest,' which appeared to be at least part of the reason King Ragnuk had granted Harry this particular 'Boon.' "By right of Peverell Blood and Slytherin Conquest..." the letter had stated. Obviously, he needed to write down the prophecy and show it and the Letter of Patent to Ron and Hermione as soon as possible. Closing the trunk and opting to instead place the Goblin note in the breast pocket of his outer robe, Harry stood, trying not to feel overwhelmed as he felt Destiny lap at his heels. First dinner, then the Room of Requirement.

*********************************  
6:12pm

Harry felt cold stone at his back, as Hermione's worried face swam into view. He absently noted that the flickering torches in the dim hallway cast a golden nimbus around her head. It was starting to come back to him, how his scar had exploded in pain on their way to the Great Hall; how his friends had practically carried him into one of the Castle's hidden alcoves when his knees buckled and his vision grew dark. Had he screamed? The exact sequence of events remained unclear.

"Should I get Madam Pomfrey?" Ron whispered anxiously, "Or Dumbledore, maybe?"

Drawing in an anguished breath, Harry laughed, a sharp, brittle sound which cut through the hushed silence like shards of broken glass. A little delirious, he rasped, "The best laid plans of mice and men..."

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks over Harry's supine form. "Dumbledore, I think," replied Hermione, the tremor in her voice betraying the depth of her fear for their friend. Fetching him from the Great Hall ultimately proved unnecessary, however, as the Headmaster appeared suddenly before them as though summoned to their location by the mere mention of his name.

"Professor McGonagall became concerned when she noticed that despite having set off from Gryffindor Tower with your housemates, the three of you were absent from dinner. I offered to look into what might have delayed you." Taking in Harry's bleeding scar and position on the ground, he added, "And not a moment too soon, it appears."

Peering critically at Harry over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, he asked the teenager, "Do you think you can stand, or should I conjure a stretcher to take you to the hospital wing?"

More than a little worried at the raven-haired wizard's closed eyes and lack of response, the headmaster crouched down and pushed some of the wild locks off his forehead in order to better examine the curse scar above his brow. He conjured a moist cloth to wipe away the blood which revealed a swollen, livid mark carved into fevered skin; looking as if it had been inflicted minutes ago rather than years. At the soft touch, Harry's emerald eyes fluttered open, their typically vivid green dulled by pain. "I can stand," he claimed, a bit breathless.

"Harry, I don't think..." Hermione began, quietly, even as Ron and Dumbledore carefully helped him to his feet. The seventh year swayed, but managed to remain upright through sheer force of will. For, as soon as Professor Dumbledore's hands had gripped under Harry's arms, a forgotten memory fought its way from the recesses of his mind accompanied by another unexplainable urge. Once he was standing completely unaided, Harry acted, feeling almost as though he were under the imperious curse, except he was capable of resisting the Unforgivable. This was preordained, and the tangled skein had already been spun and measured by the Fates themselves; here, he was powerless.

Harry drew his trusty Holly and Phoenix feather wand faster than anyone could blink. In the space between one breath and the next, he sent a crimson spell at the venerable wizard, neatly disarming him with an understated horizontal slash and downward flick. As his left hand closed over the notched length of wood, Atropos cut the thread.

Ron and Hermione both gasped loudly in shock. Dumbledore held up a hand to silence them. "Please, explain yourself," the powerful sorcerer demanded, his grandfatherly veneer stripped away.

Leaning against the wall for support, Harry started speaking. "Almost two years ago to the day, when I was in your office after the Department of Mysteries, after S..Sirius was killed. The day you finally informed me about the prophecy that Trelawney gave when you interviewed her for the Divination position. I was drowning in grief, anger, self-loathing... I barely heard your careful explanations. I could hardly stand to listen to your justifications as to why you had elected to keep something fundamental to my very existence from me...not when I couldn't help but think if I hadn't been so ignorant, I wouldn't have led my own godfather to his death. Trapped in an echo chamber repeating everything I did wrong, everything I could have done differently; I was so emotionally overwrought that I didn't remember until just now that in the midst of all that blame and guilt you spoke to me about your wand. You told me there would come a time, and I would know when the moment had arrived, that I would need to take your wand...win it from you. 'To the victor go the spoils,' you said." Harry slid down the wall to the floor...'One a Boon. One a Spoil. One a Bequest'

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Hermione scrambled to the ground beside him, clasping his hand tightly in hers as tears slipped silently down her cheeks. Forcing himself to continue the story, he divulged a key piece of information. "You cast a spell on yourself to suppress your memory of that portion of our conversation...it wasn't obliviate exactly, but something else. You explained that this would help keep you from anticipating anything and thus preventing me from doing what I needed to do. You then gave me the name of the spell that would... release your memory but made it very clear I had to perform it with this wand," he finished, brandishing the headmaster's wand.

"What was the incantation I taught you?" Dumbledore asked, unreadable.

"Momento Commemini," Harry replied back in an equally neutral tone.

Should he let Harry Potter, who might well be possessed by Tom Riddle take a free shot at him with the most powerful wand in existence while he himself was cornered and unarmed? Taking a leap of faith, after all Death was but the next great adventure, he inclined his head toward the other wizard, granting his permission.

Harry remained propped against the wall, Hermione at his side and Ron looking on in confused horror. Harry pointed the wand at Albus Dumbledore, softly speaking the incantation. A white light shot toward the older man, who had to force himself not to flinch. As he had hoped, but not necessarily expected, the spell was like a warm caress, gently coaxing the previously hidden memory into view. Everything had indeed happened precisely as the Gryffindor had conveyed.

The trio looked on in concern until Dumbledore smiled at them. "It seems I may need to engage Lord Ollivander's services this evening," he said. "I am not entirely certain I will still be compatible with the wand I chose as a young man. You see, between the four of us, I was quite arrogant in my youth. I would like to believe that I have gained at least some wisdom in the intervening century, however."

Appearing to reminisce for a moment, he turned to the students, all three huddled together on the stone floor now that the youngest Weasley boy had overcome his shock. "We were heading to the infirmary, I believe, before all the excitement?" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at them, reinserting a degree of normalcy into the highly unorthodox situation.

"Actually, sir," Harry interjected, "The three of us need a private place to discuss a few things."

"We do?" Hermione inquired, before changing course, "I mean of course we do...If it's all the same to you, Professor."

Immediately catching on to the fact that Harry must have a few more bombshells to drop on them, Ron confirmed, "There a few empty classrooms about we like to use."

Feeling as if there was more he should be asking, more he should be doing, he nonetheless gave his consent. After all with these three in particular, where there was a will, they would find a way. Moreover, he had an appointment to make. Getting fitted for a new wand at his age was likely to be quite the undertaking. "See if you can find an elf to bring you dinner, as you should definitely eat something." He gave Harry a particularly stern look as he said this. "Also, be mindful of curfew. You are still my students for the next...day and a half," he calculated. "One more thing, make sure to see Madam Pomfrey before bed; I will know if you neglect to do so," he warned before leaving them to their own devices in a swirl of purple robes covered in stars and planetary symbols.

"Barmy, that one," Ron announced at his departure. "Brilliant, but nuttier than a five pound fruitcake, as my mum would say."

"Quite," Hermione agreed, as she and Ron hefted Harry up from the floor.

"RoR?" Ron inquired cryptically.

"That should be perfect."

The trio made their way slowly to the 7th floor, both Ron and Hermione shooting worried looks in Harry's direction every few feet. "I'm fine," he told them, some irritation bleeding through in his voice.

They both nodded, clearly only humoring him, as Hermione remained in easy grabbing distance on the stairs, and Ron stayed behind them, poised to catch Harry with hands or magic should he take a tumble.

When they finally reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Harry walked back and forth in front of it three times requesting, "A place where I can tell them everything." The door appeared and the three friends filed inside.

*********************************  
25 June 1998- Hogwarts Room of Requirement - 7:05pm

The first thing Harry noticed was a large, comfortable couch covered in soft brown fabric. A muggle white board complete with several colors of dry erase markers was stationed nearby. While all he really wanted to do was flop onto the plush sofa and rest his eyes for a few minutes, he handed Hermione the letter from King Ragnuk and dutifully stood in front of the board to copy out the new prophecy. He used green for things he thought he understood, red for phrases he felt were important but he had no clue about, blue for things connected to the previous prophecy, and the regular black marker for everything else.

Looking up from the royal correspondence, Hermione's brown eyes were wide and bright. "Harry, what is this?"

"I don't really know," he replied as he continued to write, mouthing the words to ensure he didn't miss anything. "It came earlier this evening, just before dinner. Right before I went down to the common room actually."

"Let me take shufti," Ron requested, feeling a bit left out. Hermione absently passed him the parchment, her brilliant mind already analyzing what Harry had posted on the board.

"Merlin's Balls, Harry!" the red-headed wizard exclaimed. "This is from the bloody King of the Goblin Consortium!"

"I'd worked that bit out myself, Ron," Harry replied waspishly, "Seeing as how he signed it and all."

"Right, but Harry...the last time the Goblin King granted a wizard a Boon, was when Ragnuk the First gifted Godric Gryffindor the sword you used to kill that great bloody snake. According to my brother, Bill, that didn't er...work out so well, so the Goblins haven't..."

"At least to anyone's knowledge," Hermione interrupted. Wizards were not the most faithful historians, and she could see the Goblin's deciding that whatever their sovereign did or did not do was no one's business but their own.

"Right...so far as anyone knows," he conceded, "Including scholars who have much more expertise than any of us," he couldn't help but add, "The Goblins haven't issued a letter of patent to a wizard in more than 1000 years."

Ron read the letter carefully, while Harry finished recording Trelawney's rhymes. "What 'Artefact' did they give you lifetime rights to, Harry?"

"I'll show you in a minute," he promised as he stood back to proof his work. Satisfied with his rendering, he settled on the couch between them as they all read it through.

"Harry," Hermione asked, bewildered, "What is this...verse you have written out for us?"

"A new prophecy from Trelawney," he disclosed. "Hot off the presses. She ambushed me at the bottom of the North Tower after class to ostensibly return my Spring project." He stopped and ran his hand through his messy hair. "I wish I could say that this was just some...twisted parting gift in poor taste, but too much of it rings true, and may have already started to come to pass," he admitted, sounding slightly hysterical even to his own ears.

"Everybody calm down," Ron encouraged. Let's see if I can hail an elf." Hermione gave him a dirty look. "Or we could drag Harry all the way back down to the kitchens, if you would prefer?" He suggested sharply, shooting her a glare of his own.

"Fine," she allowed, "But only because we need to eat, and there are extenuating circumstances." Her eyes locked on Harry, who was staring ahead unblinking, almost catatonic. "Can they even get to us in here, or will we have to leave first?"

"Won't know until we try, but Dobby was able to reach us during our DA meetings. Remember the mistletoe?"

"Dobby!" Ron called.

"What does Master Harry's Wheezy need from Dobby?" The house elf asked as he popped into the room, his bat-like ears perked up high at the prospect of being useful.

Obviously just noticing the elf's arrival, Harry smiled broadly. "Dobby!" He cried, "How are you?"

"Dobby is well, Sir, thank you for asking. What can Dobby do for Master Harry and his friends this evening?"

Harry gave the excitable elf a blank look, before Ron rushed in to explain. "We missed dinner Dobby, because Harry wasn't feeling well." Glancing at Hermione, he continued,"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, do you think you could bring us something to eat?"

Bouncing on his toes, he exclaimed, "Dobby would love to bring Master and his friends some food." He popped away once more with a snap of his long fingers.

"I try to visit him in the kitchens sometimes, but he always seems so busy that I don't want to bother him too much. I have to remember that I have an anniversary gift to give him."

"Is there something you aren't telling us, Harry?" Ron joked.

"I mean for his 'freedom' anniversary, I guess you could call it. He's been free of the Malfoys for 5 years now," Harry told them.

Slightly ashamed of herself for underestimating how much Harry obviously considered the little elf a friend, she asked, "What did you get him?"

"I got him a certificate for Glad Rags in Hogsmeade. They have some fun clothes that I think he'll like now that he can really express himself, but I didn't want to actually give him clothes directly in case the cultural connotations of such an act upset him. I figured if he picks for himself it will be alright, don't you think?" He asked them, suddenly worried.

"I'm sure he will be touched by anything you give him," Hermione assured him.

Just then Dobby returned with a veritable feast. Ron was in heaven. "Thank you so much," he said through a mouthful of food.

Slightly disgusted, though why his lack of table manners still surprised her she had no idea, Hermione echoed the thanks. Harry also offered his sincere gratitude.

Once Harry had filled his plate, they returned to their discussion. The dark-haired wizard pointed to the first stanza, which he had largely copied in red marker. "Obviously it is talking about three things that are pretty important in my fight with Voldemort; maybe things I have to do or take care of before I confront him? She said they are the "crux."

Hermione nodded, grabbing a pen and notebook that had been supplied by the room...implements far more conducive to taking notes on a couch than a quill and parchment, which was to say nothing of the hassle that trying to deal with a pot of ink in this situation would be. She must have Harry to thank for the practicalities. "See how there is an apostrophe before the crux in the first and last lines? How could you tell?"

"I..uh...didn't realize it until I was writing it out, but I know it's supposed to be like that," he added with conviction.

"I am not second-guessing you," she defended, "I was merely curious. In any event, that apostrophe indicates that there is more to the word...the first part has been truncated. So whatever these three things are called, the name probably ends in 'c-r-u-x.' "

Ron popped a sausage roll into his mouth before asking, "Why'd you put the first part of that in green but the rest in red?"

"Well, I reckoned the first 'Crux had already been dealt with... since it said it had 'succumbed.' Plus, 'ink' and 'venomous' made me think it could be referring to Riddle's diary," Harry told them.

Hermione nodded, "A lot of that fits from what we know and what you've told us about that night. So that might make that memory or spirit of Voldemort that was in the diary a 'Crux."

Harry blanched, "Merlin...there are two more of them?" He looked sick.

"So you don't have any ideas about the 'Tool of Resurrection'?" Hermione inquired, trying to distract Harry from his crushing realization. He shook his head mutely. "Ron?" she prompted, making a note to herself to research some biblical sources.

"Well, there is the stone from the story about the three brothers," he said to them after a few minutes.

"What stone, which brothers?" Hermione demanded.

"It's just a children's story, you know like 'Babbitt Rabbity' and er...'The Warlock's Hairy Heart.'"

"Neither of us have any idea what you are talking about," she informed him in frustration, after confirming that Harry was equally lost.

"You know from The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" Ron too was getting frustrated.

"Is that a book of stories? Stories that maybe only people raised in the wizarding world might have heard as children?" She spat.

"Here, have a biscuit," Harry said to Hermione, hoping to deescalate things. He took one for himself as well since they smelled amazing. "Ron, tell us about the stone."

"I mean, it has been a while, but I think the second brother is the one that Death gives the river stone to, a stone that can call back the dead."

"What is it supposed to look like?" Hermione asked curiously, jotting down notes about the tale and several potential research avenues.

"I dunno...it's a river rock, so it's probably dark colored?" He guessed. "Hermione, anyway, it's just a story."

Reluctantly letting it go, she moved on. "The last one looks like it might involve Hogsmeade somehow...what other school village could Voldemort possibly be interested in pillaging?"

"Beheading makes it seem like the third 'Crux could be a living thing..."

"What about the New Village Part?"'Ron asked, pouring some pumpkin juice for the three of them. "It doesn't really make sense does it, how can a place behead anything?"

"Have there ever been any plans to add to Hogsmeade? It is one of the only entirely magical enclaves in Britain...Do you think maybe they intended to set up others at one time?"

Neither Ron nor Harry had anything to offer on that, so the passage remained in red.

"What's an afflux?" Ron asked.

"It's like a flow or big rush of something, like water or air, usually. In this case, apparently magic. That part seems pretty clear then, they try and pillage Hogsmeade but are thwarted by powerful magic." She pointed her wand at the board to change the color from red to green.

"Let's look at the end pieces, they seem a bit less oblique," Hermione suggested, plucking some grapes off a juicy looking bunch and dropping them on Harry's plate. He had hardly eaten anything.

"Well, Fortune favoring the Bold could be a positive thing for Harry, since Gryffindor is known as the house of the brave and bold. And, surviving a dark curse also sounds pretty good, right?" Ron offered.

Hermione nodded and changed those sections of text from black and red to green on the board. "Beyond the veil is often a euphemism for death," she added tentatively. "And 'abyss' can be a synonym for the underworld or even Hell."

Quietly Harry noted, "It seems to be saying that I will definitely fight, but I am not guaranteed to win. But what are these 'fractured souls' and the 'purifying light?'"

"I don't know," she admitted, sounding a bit defeated. She left those lines in red.

"Maybe the middle part will help us understand?" Ron proposed, trying to maintain a level of optimism. However, at Hermione's withering look, he glanced at the board, noticing for the first time that those lines talked about death, possibly Harry's. He had stepped in it again.

Retaking control before Ron made things even more awkward, Hermione framed her analysis, "As Harry already identified with his use of the blue marker, it seems the mentions of equal power and either Voldemort or Harry dying," her voice caught on the word. She sent Harry an apologetic look, which he waived away. He knew well what was at stake after all, no need to dance around it. "Dying by the various hands," she resumed confidently, "are echoing the words and circumstances of Trelawney's earlier prophecy."

"But it says 'more than equal power,' Ron interjected.

Without batting an eyelash Hermione said, "Harry is an incredibly powerful wizard, Ron, you know this. It stands to reason that if Voldemort marked him as his equal as an infant, then almost 17 years later, Harry would have grown beyond that equality. Further, Voldemort has more than 50 years of magical learning and experience on Harry. The only way Harry maintains a chance at winning in that scenario is if he has an advantage in raw power."

Ron's look of awe made Harry feel nauseous, though he was grateful that there didn't seem to be any fear in that gaze. Recovering quickly, the red-head teased, "Pint-sized powerhouse, that's our Harry."

Laughing with him in relief, Harry shook his head, lamenting, "Always with the height jokes...we can't all look like we might have giant's blood somewhere in our ancestry."

Clearing her throat, Hermione pushed them back to the task at hand, though he noted her eyes were sparkling with mirth. "Right of Conquest," she prompted.

"That was specifically mentioned in the Goblin King's Letter," Ron blurted out. The phrase had already been written in green.

"The 'dark hand' here is clearly a reference to Voldemort, but what does it mean to be 'Hallowed in the Hallows?' Hallowed usually means to be consecrated or honored as holy," she mumbled to herself. "These Hallows are critical to your survival, according to this."

"I think we know what they are," Harry stated, heart pounding. "One a Spoil: Dumbledore's wand; One a Boon: the ring from the Goblins; and One a Bequest: My father's invisibility cloak."

"You know," Ron said, "That's almost exactly like the gifts that Death gave the three brothers in Beedle's Tales. He gave the oldest brother a really powerful wand and the third brother his very own cloak of invisibility. But, like I told you before, the second brother was given a stone, not a ring."

"Harry," Hermione said urgently, her skin prickling as the hairs on the back of her neck raised, "Show us the ring."

He obliged her request, pulling the crude gold signet from his pocket. He offered it to her, but she declined to touch it. "Stones are set within rings," she whispered. "Put it on, Harry," she insisted. "I have never been more sure of anything in my life. Put it on your left index finger."

He trusted Hermione's judgement even more than his own, so he slipped it on his finger without a second thought. The pain was instantly blinding. It drove him to his knees. He couldn't tell if he or Ron was yelling louder. It felt as if his head would split in two. It was worse than when he had faced Voldemort in the graveyard at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and worse even than Voldemort's ill-fated attempt at possessing him at the Ministry. He was certain he was going to die, and he welcomed it.

"What the fuck, Hermione?!" Ron screamed, as they tried to keep Harry from hitting his head. She grabbed one of the cushions from the couch and placed it under him as he seized, his back arching off the floor. "Get the ring off! It's killing him!"

Blood and ichor flowed freely from the scar. "It won't come off!" She yelled, desperately.

"We need a knife!"

"You can't cut off his finger!"

"It's better than dying! I can't believe the Goblins would give him a cursed Artefact. They must have known they would get it back quickly, since it was designed to kill him!"

They were both hysterical as Harry's writhing slowed to an occasional twitch. "He has a pulse," Hermione stated, trying to calm herself. "Ron, find me a clean towel. I want to wash his face."

He located a linen napkin that had been left with their dinner service and dunked it in the charmed crock of warm water intended to be used for their tea.

"Here," he said, thrusting it at her with a trembling hand.

She took the cloth and wiped away the gore, trying to be gentle around the surely open wound.

"Ron, Ron look!" Hermione called, voice raised.

Harry's scar was no longer red and raised. It was faded as it had never been before; flat and white, hardly noticeable. 'Another will soon face ejection from a Tool of Resurrection.'

"How...what does it mean?" Ron asked, his eyes pleading with her to have the answers, like always, for her to tell him it would be okay.

She knew what it could mean, but all she said was, "I don't know Ron, I really don't know."

***  
To Be Continued..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to faithful reviewer linuxrocs, for the kind words and much-needed encouragement!
> 
> Many descriptions of Harry's Scar have been drawn directly from or inspired by Harry Potter and th Philosophers Stone, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Information about the Hallows and the Tale of the Three Brothers are drawn from the series as well as The Tales of Beedle the Bard. This story is AU.


	8. The Cost of Victory and Price of Defeat - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 - Last in the Final Battle Arc. It’s about to get real, and Voldemort finally shows up to the party. What will be the cost of victory, and what will be the price of defeat? This was a bit of a slog and ended up being more than 13K words. Phew! There is some violence and minor language in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER - This is the third and final chapter detailing the class of 1998’s final days of school, battle with Voldemort, and its immediate aftermath. Chronologically this is the 9th Chapter, but it is the newest text. This is AU.

~~Previously..."Harry's scar was no longer red and raised. It was faded as it had never been before; flat and white, hardly noticeable. 'Another will soon face ejection from a Tool of Resurrection.'

"How...what does it mean?" Ron asked, his eyes pleading with her to have the answers, like always, for her to tell him it would be okay.

She knew what it could mean, but all she said was,"I don't know Ron, I really don't know."~~

****************************

26 June 1998- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Infirmary- 9:35am

Harry woke slowly, the soft murmur of familiar voices a comforting presence in the background. He felt shockingly good considering the last thing he remembered was unbearable agony, a hundred times worse than cruciatus. His head still ached, but he no longer wished for death to deliver him from his torment. Stranger still, his magic was somehow lighter, easier, and possibly stronger, than ever before. It was like he had broken free of shackles he hadn't even known existed. It was warm and wild, and it filled him in a way that reminded him of the power he had controlled at the height of his ascension ritual; when his family magics had first embraced him, only this...this seemed permanent. It was exhilarating and terrifying. What had happened to him?

"Harry?" At Hermione's quiet inquiry, his eyes fluttered open. He was grateful that Madam Pomfrey had dimmed the lights in the ward, though a sliver of sunlight bled through the heavy privacy curtain around the bed.

"How long was I out?" He asked, his voice hoarse from overuse.

Ron stood and poured him a glass of water from the carafe next to the bed. He took it gratefully, drinking deeply, thankful to see that his hands shook only slightly as he placed it on the table beside him when he was through.

"Almost 12 hours," she revealed solemnly. "Harry, we thought...that is..." abandoning any attempt to explain, she leapt up from her chair to embrace him instead. "I am so glad you're okay."

"Seriously, mate," Ron chimed in, "You gave us quite a scare last night."

"What happened?" He asked, wincing as he reached for his glasses.

"We were hoping you would be able to tell us," she said.

"I don't really remember," he frowned, thinking back. "We were talking through the prophecy?" He seemed uncertain.

"That's right," she encouraged.

"Did I...I put on the ring, didn't I? The one from the Goblins?" He looked down and noticed the primitive gold and black band still graced his left hand.

"Oh, Harry, I am so sorry!" Hermione began crying, "I told you to do it. It is all my fault."

Looking rather unsure about how to handle this emotionally distraught version of his stalwart friend, he reached out to take her hand. "Hermione, it's okay. Really, I'm fine. See? And...you were right about the ring. It did something to close my connection with Voldemort. I can't even...I didn't realize what a burden that link was, how much it was affecting me. Trust me, despite how it might have seemed, it was definitely for the best."

Shattering the moment, Madam Pomfrey drew back the curtain."Good, you're awake," she declared, critically eying the results of her diagnostic spells. "Tippy," she called over her shoulder, "Please bring some breakfast to Lord Potter...and his friends," she added seeing Ron's hopeful expression. Refocusing on Harry, the matron held up a phial, "Take this headache draught after you've eaten a bit. It should help take the edge off." She handed the potion off to Ron, who set it carefully inside the empty water glass from earlier. "Now, remove your spectacles, please. Good lad," she said, examining his eyes. "Any blind spots or fluctuations in your vision?"

"Er...no, I don't think so," he replied, moderately concerned.

"If anything changes, I want you report it to me immediately."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey."

"Here comes Tippy, now eat up!" she directed before bustling away to another patient.

The trio helped themselves to food from the steaming platters, though Hermione slapped Ron's hand away at one point in order to serve Harry a plump sausage. The red head's look of indignation caused Harry to burst out laughing, which was contagious, leaving the three of them cackling like drunken hags at a hen party. "If it really means that much to you, you can have it," teased Harry.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione objected, still giggling. "He already had at least four when we were in the Great Hall."

Ron shrugged, unrepentant, mouth filled with eggs. "I am a growing boy, Hermione."

Eyes sparking, she patted his stomach and deadpanned, "You certainly are."

"Hey!" Ron roared, which set Harry and Hermione off again.

Once their uncharacteristic bout of silliness receded, Harry reached for the potion the school matron had left, grimacing as he swallowed it down quickly, trying to keep it from touching his tongue. "That is truly disgusting. I am certain Snape flavors it like that on purpose. Yuck!"

"Like what? Troll bogies or arse?" Ron asked, innocently.

Hermione shook her head at him, boys, before refilling Harry's water glass and handing it to him so he could wash out the foul taste...whatever it may have been.

Suddenly Madam Pomfrey came running through the ward, sounding a bit frantic. "If you are feeling well enough, I am going to ask that you head back to your dorm."

"Of course," Harry replied, relieved he wouldn't have to bargain for his freedom for once, which did beg the question..."Is everything alright?"

"The Dark Mark has been spotted over Hogsmeade, and the headmaster ordered me to be prepared to receive casualties."

"Merlin!" exclaimed Hermione in shock. She knew some of their class mates were likely in the village today as there were no classes, and the 7th years had been afforded fairly expansive privileges since the conclusion of their N.E.W.T.s.

"Ron," Harry said, urgently, "Send a message to the DA members; anyone in 6th or 7th year who is still in the castle should meet by the main entrance as soon as possible." He quickly performed a switching spell to change into the clothes he had set aside for today, just as Madam Pomfrey must have done the night before to get him into his pajamas since he could feel that the invisibility cloak under his other garments remained relatively undisturbed. As they moved through the halls, Harry considered which students should be deployed to various locations. He supposed this must have been what Voldemort had been planning. It was surreal not to have any indications of such a major event from his scar, though he certainly relished the opportunity to face the Dark Lord clearheaded rather than literally blinded by pain.

He was happy to see so many students gathered when they reached the door, but he noticed a few of their 24 members were missing. Wasting no time, Harry immediately addressed the group. "As some of you have likely already heard, the village of Hogsmeade is believed to be under attack by Voldemort's forces."

This announcement was met with shocked cries, and several people started speaking at once. Padma Patil wailed, "Parvati went into town this morning with Lavender!" Hannah Abbot reported that at least two 7th year Puffs, Ernie MacMillan and Zacharias Smith, were also in the village. Panic was starting to take hold.

"Everyone settle down and listen to what Lord Potter has to say," Neville ordered, his deep voice ringing with authority. Harry inclined his head to the other Gryffindor, in thanks, still marveling at the depth of the Longbottom Heir's complete transformation.

"I believe we are going to have to draw on some of the small group tactics we have been practicing this year. Those who are strong fliers, get your brooms. We need to conduct reconnaissance, and I intend to lead an arial assault team." Ron, Ginny, and a few others raced for their dorms or the school broom sheds; Harry was confident Ron would grab his Firebolt from the storage cupboard for him. "Neville," he continued, "You will be leading an offensive engagement from the ground."

Neville nodded, "Millie, Luna, Anthony, and Terry, you're with me."

Harry approved of the selections, as he knew how well the two Ravenclaw wizards worked as a team, and Millicent and Luna, like Neville himself, were heavy hitters. He left them to their planning.

"Hermione, you are in charge of rescue efforts. Getting people to medical treatment, to safety, and organizing an evacuation of students and townspeople. Hopefully an Auror squad will already be doing some of that. To that end..." He pulled about a dozen muggle coins out of his pocket, turning each of them into a two-way portkey. As she gathered her team: Padma, Michael Corner, Justin Finch-Fletchly, and Hannah Abbott, several of whom would begin studying to be healers within the next few months, he passed each of them some coins. "The password is 'Sanctuary.' These should at least take people to the gates of the school. 'Return,' should take you to your starting point, as long as you fix it firmly in your mind. Obviously, Honeydukes, the Shrieking Shack, and the Hogs Head can also be used to get people behind the school wards."

"What's he talking about?" asked Padma, clearly still very worried about the fate of her twin.

"I will explain on the way. Follow me to the 7th floor," responded Hermione, gesturing for her team to head out with her.

The flyers had all returned, and now Harry turned to Susan. She, Morag, Kevin, Seamus, and Colin would be receiving refugees and others from Hogsmeade and helping protect the school: guarding the gates, monitoring the secret passage ways on the 3rd and 7th floors, and keeping an eye on the grounds to prevent the forest from being used as a staging point for an invasion. "Talk to the Centaurs," Harry suggested.

"Someone should keep an eye on the Slytherin dorms as well," Daphne warned, straightening the bristles on her Nimbus; Millicent Bulstrode nodded in agreement.

"Good luck! Watch each others' backs and don't take any foolish risks. There is no shame in retreating. Living to fight another day is the most important thing," he told them, making deliberate eye contact with every Gryffindor as he said it.

Ron, Ginny, Dean, and Daphne would be flying with him. They disillusioned each other and their brooms, and Ginny taught them all a communication spell she had learned from Hermione which worked a bit muggle walkie-talkies. As they carefully flew in the direction of the village, keeping an eye out for any potential movements toward the school, they could just make out what was likely Neville's group advancing through the trees. They could also see the sinister dark mark hovering above an antiques shop off the High Street. Ron decided they needed call-signs, so he became 'Cannon;' Harry was '7;' Ginny chose 'Harpy;' Dean wisely did not comment on that but kept with the sports theme and selected 'Ham;' and Daphne bucked the trend, going with 'Queenie,' a family nick-name only used behind closed doors until now.

**************************

26 June 1998 - Ground Engagement Team - Hogsmeade

Neville was leading a disillusioned group along the carriage path to the village. The five students traveled swiftly through the trees off the main road, the smell of smoke and sounds of fighting becoming more obvious as they approached the edge of town.

Anthony Goldstein looked concerned. He felt like they weren't sufficiently prepared. They had no idea what they would be walking into and hadn't had enough time to develop a robust strategy for their infiltration. His experiences told him that Gryffindors, even ones as seemingly stolid as Heir Longbottom, preferred to wing it, justifying their tactical laissez-faire with the maxim that no plan survived first contact anyway, so why bother with one? It frustrated him, but there had clearly been no other option in this instance; people were dying, they couldn't delay in their rescue efforts. He couldn't help but think privately that they were doomed. His best friend and fellow Ravenclaw, Terry Boot, had given him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as they departed, understanding Anthony's misgivings, but not necessarily sharing them. Well, Terry had been a hat stall...perhaps he was just channeling his inner Lion. The last Eagle in their midst, though it pained Anthony to recognize her as such, was Luna Lovegood. Like Terry, she appeared determined and unafraid. Her typically dreamy expression now serious as she maintained a laser focus on their surroundings. Rounding out their little gang was the tall Slytherin girl, Molly or Millie, Anthony thought it was. She was relatively quiet for that lot, but he still felt uneasy around her, like she might be secretly considering how he would taste smothered in a hollandaise sauce. He was man enough to admit that she terrified him.

Once the students crossed over the village boundary line and headed down the High Street, they entered a war zone. At the Three Broomsticks, it was a scene from a horror film. Wizards and witches poured out of the entrance while green spell fire that could only be Avada Kedavra caused people to fall to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut, their bodies trampled by the fleeing crowds. One of the hooded and masked Death Eaters who had been torturing a group of three early lunch patrons in front of the pub was hit by friendly fire, his hulking frame collapsing on top of one of his victims as she struggled to get free. The incident so shocked the others that they paused in their ministrations, allowing Luna Lovegood the opening she needed to stun and bind them so the women could escape to safety. The chaos around them provided enough cover that no one noticed where their spells had come from.

In the flickering light inside the pub, Fenrir Grayback, face uncovered for all to see, stood over a defiant Madam Rosmerta who was protecting a family with two young children huddled behind the bar. Before they could even begin to formulate how they might go against the stream of traffic to get inside to do something to help, she had doused him in an entire cask of barrel-aged Meade and set it alight. His howls of pain would give Anthony nightmares for weeks.

Just as Neville was about to suggest they start evacuating townspeople to the school through Honeydukes, a large green snake, at least 10 feet long and nearly as thick as a man's thigh, came at them with its fangs bared from one of the shadowed corners created by the pub's many gabled windows. Reacting on pure instinct, despite being briefly distracted by a sizable flock of owls flying in the distance, he cast a powerful bombarda maxima, catching the beast mid-lunge. Large portions of the snake's body were pulverized by the spell, showering the group with its flesh and blood and compromising their disguise.

They quickly retreated into a cluster of trees near the Shrieking Shack. "Argh! Neville," cried Terry Boot, attempting to wipe some of the gore from his face and robes. "Couldn't you have used a bloody severing charm or something? I think some of that got in my mouth!"

Sheepish, Neville apologized, "Sorry, since it was moving so fast, I wanted to make sure I killed it even if I only managed a glancing blow."

Millicent looked impressed by Neville and entirely unphased by the bits of snake in her hair. "Suck it up, Boot," she said, "I heard it's supposed to taste like chicken." Even Luna looked faintly nauseated by her declaration.

Approaching the broad wizard with a saunter that no doubt passed as seductive in Slytherin circles, she casually brushed a chunk of snake off his shoulder and asked, "Are you doing anything later?"

"I didn't have anything specific planned, no," he admitted. Harry owed him big-time, and if they all lived through this, he was definitely going to cash in. Millicent seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Now you do," she explained, "With me," lest there be any doubt. The smile that accompanied her statement was moderately disturbing, but brave men triumphed in war, after all.

"I am looking forward to it," he said. This time Terry wretched into some greenery. Gryffindors, honestly. They cleaned themselves up as best they could and abandoned their stealth charms. Their next confrontations with the enemy in the village would be head on.

****************************

Air Assault Team - Hogsmeade

Harry and his team flew over the village, identifying clusters of Death Eaters and picking them off as quickly and quietly as possible, not wanting to inadvertently give away their aerial advantage with anything too flashy. Harry knew both a blasting hex and cutting curse that could be performed without producing any colored light, and he used both to exceptional effect, ruthlessly cutting his way through the ranks of masked figures. He didn't think he had actually killed anyone, but he was fairly certain none of the ones he had tagged would be rejoining the battle anytime soon.

Ron, Ginny, and Daphne, though all for different reasons, were rather familiar with Harry's prodigious skill. Dean, however, had rarely seen Harry in action like this. Indeed, he had only occasionally caught the green-eyed teen out of the corner of his eye in class or sometimes demonstrating in front of the DA, where it was now obvious to the other Gryffindor that his dorm-mate had downplayed his talent and power. As Harry made what should have been an impossible shot from their distance; they were on brooms and it had been moving target, Dean couldn't help but whistle. "Damn 7, you're a bloody marksman."

"Keep your head in the game," Harry warned the dark-skinned wizard, brushing off the praise as he sent a large shield toward a small group of children who were separated from their parents and caught in the cross-fire between an Auror Squad and three Death Eaters. One of the crimson-robed wizards made a mad dash into the fire fight to bring them to safety. The Auror, who Harry thought might have been Dylan Savage, took a piercing hex to his left shoulder blade but didn't slow as he managed to get the kids to shelter where another group of DMLE employees appeared to be checking them over before evacuating them by portkey.

The group moved above the village in no discernible pattern, looking for places where they could discreetly prevent Voldemort's forces from getting the upper hand. Just as they observed a flock of at least 30 owls streaming from the village post office, Ron, who had been flying lower to the ground than the others yelled, "Ugh, I got hit with something wet from the down there, I think I am partially visible!"

"Fly higher," Dean urged, "I will see if I can deal with it." He flew beneath Ron and cast several strong scourgify spells in quick succession, each one removing more of what appeared to be...animal guts, or something worse, from the bottom of the red head's robes.

As soon as that crisis was averted, the team spotted two large, hooded figures dragging a screaming witch behind the burning remains of a building up ahead of them. "That's Lavender!" shouted Ginny Weasley, as Daphne pulled away from their formation and sent a flurry of severing charms toward the assailants, praying to the Goddess that her aim would be true.

One of her spells caught the tallest of the three figures in the neck, and he let go of the Gryffindor witch as he brought his hands to his throat in a futile effort before falling to the ground. The force of the impact had knocked his mask free, and as the other four fliers caught up to their Slytherin teammate, Daphne let out a shocked gasp. Vincent Crabbe stared up at them with lifeless eyes as Lavender broke from her daze, took his wand, and cut down the other wizard, who must have been Goyle. Frozen in the air, they all watched as the blonde witch shot several more spells at both of her attackers before searching Goyle's robes for her own wand. Locating it, she pocketed Crabbe's, snapped Goyle's, and ran to re-join the fray, never once looking to see where her savior might have been hiding. Meanwhile, blood continued to pool in a wide circle around their classmate's body.

"We have to keep going," Harry spoke softly to the others, pulling them from their shock. He suspected several of them may have just realized that this was war and that people would die. Truly facing the fact that they might personally not make it out of this, or might be responsible for someone else's death, was sobering. It was a much subdued team that flew back into the battle.

*****************************

Search and Rescue Team - Hogs Head Inn- Hogsmeade

As soon as Hermione helped the last of her group step through the hole in the wall behind the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore on the 2nd Floor of the Hogs Head Inn, Aberforth Dumbledore burst through the door with his wand raised; he was a very different sort of presence than his elder brother with whom they were all familiar. Recognizing the 7th year witch, the grizzled pub owner lowered his wand, but not before yelling at them. "What are you doing here? The village is under attack!"

"We know," Hermione replied calmly. "We're here to help. We want to start finding those who are injured and evacuating people to the school." She stepped forward, "May we use your passage?"

"It wasn't like you asked for permission before," he griped.

Interpreting that as consent, Justin explained, "We have people at the school standing by to organize and settle those we send through."

"Aye," Aberforth nodded. "Just make sure you check every forearm and hit them all with a calming charm or something. You don't need a bunch of wound-up magicals going at each other in a time like this. We can start with the people I have been hiding downstairs."

Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchly suggested that they could handle the refugees at the Inn with the help of Dumbledore's brother and then head to the opposite end of the High Street to clear shops and residences there. At the same time, Michael, Hermione, and Padma would start at the other end of the promenade, where the Three Broomsticks was located, and work their way West until both groups met in the middle. Hermione fretted about splitting up, particularly given that Hannah and Justin would be alone, but Aberforth offered to accompany the pair of Hufflepuffs until the group was reunited. Satisfied with the plan, Hermione taught them her communication spell. She warned them it probably wouldn't work between the two groups over the entire distance of the High Street but thought it could help them find each other as they closed the gap.

Disillusioned, Hermione, Michael, and Padma quickly departed the slightly unsavory establishment and headed toward the top of the High Street, trying to avoid the fighting while keeping their eyes peeled for anyone in need of medical assistance. Their first stop was the owl post pavilion. Padma told the clerk to evacuate, recommending he seek shelter at the nearby Hogs Head Inn, while Hermione and Michael released all the owls. They encouraged the birds to fly away to safety, though some of them needed more convincing than others. "Ouch!" hollered Michael suddenly, putting his index finger in his mouth. "That old barn owl bit me!" Once their task was complete, they continued toward the main road.

They hadn't traveled more that three hundred yards when Michael spotted several people in need of their help near Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Padma assessed two individuals outside, and Michael and Hermione stepped tentatively through the shattered glass that had once been the front door.

The shop itself had been decimated; so much parchment littered the floor it was as if it had snowed inside the building. There was a smoldering hole in the thatched roof and ink splattered across nearly every surface, including a particularly gruesome tableau of red on the wall behind the register that looked like arterial spray.

The owner of the popular stationary shop, Riordan Scrivenshaft, leaned bonelessly against the store's central counter, bleeding from a head wound and surveying the devastation of his life's work. There were three people, including Ernie MacMillan, laying injured on the ground. Hermione had to stifle a surge of anger at the store owner for not doing more to help his customers. A yelp at the entrance caused both Michael and Hermione to turn with their wands drawn.

"I...uh... stepped on a piece of glass, I think," Padma explained, slightly embarrassed as she cast a general healing spell toward her foot, putting a bit of weight on it to test it. She also cast a reparo on the door, causing all of the glass shards to jump into place and neatly seal together. One hazard had been taken care of, at least. "The two outside were just dazed. I sent them to the Hogs Head after ensuring that Hannah and Justin were there to meet them. No Dark Marks," she stated, concluding her report.

In the meantime, Michael had been reviving the people on the ground, while Hermione had been frantically working on their Hufflepuff classmate. "Ernie's in a bad way," she told the others fearfully. Padma immediately took over efforts to heal him as Hermione stood and cast her Patronus, using the otter to send a message to Susan Bones. "We are portkeying Ernie to the gates of the school. He needs emergency medical treatment."

Less than a minute later, a silvery hedgehog bounded over to Hermione with Susan's reply: "Understood, we are standing by."

With that, she cradled the injured Hufflepuff's head and torso in her lap as best she could to buffer him from any impact from the travel and held his hand with the muggle coin pressed between their joined palms. "Sanctuary," she whispered, feeling a tendril of Harry's magic swirl around her and deposit them surprisingly gently on the moist ground just outside the school's wards.

Seamus was waiting for them, his face pale as he took in Ernie's unconscious form and blood-soaked robe. "We managed to knit some of his wounds together, but he needs Madam Pomfrey," she told the Irish wizard. "Can you transport him yourself?"

"Yeah, I'll conjure a stretcher and levitate it."

"Okay, well...I've got to go back," she said awkwardly. The two had never been particularly friendly with one another, and whatever ties they had by virtue of being in the same house had become impossibly strained these last two years with his bad-mouthing of Harry and general nonsense regarding the conflict with Voldemort.

"Be careful," he called over his shoulder, cautiously guiding the injured wizard through the gate.

She nodded, though he couldn't see her, and clutched the coin. Envisioning the chaos inside the quill shop, she whispered, "Return." She stumbled as she landed only seconds later, leaving the muggle coin on the counter. It was only a pence, and she didn't want to confuse it with one of the other portkeys now that it was spent.

Mr. Scrivenshaft's head had been bandaged, and the other two customers were now upright and walking around. Neither appeared to be in any undue pain, so she assumed the two Ravenclaws had provided basic first aid. In fact, all five Magicals were in the process of putting the store back to rights when she arrived. She did her part by repairing the hole in the ceiling, removing the damaged straw and sedge and duplicating materials to replace it. "We need to move on," Hermione informed the others. After checking the forearms of the owner and two patrons, she spoke again, "We can get you to Hogwarts, if you want, until this is over."

The oldest customer, a wizard they learned was called Sebastian, offered to help them instead. The young witch, Lucy, however, wanted to go to the school. Michael planned to escort her to the Hogs Head and said he'd meet the others near Madam Puddifoot's. Riordan Scrivenshaft thanked them for their help, insisting he would stay with his shop and continue with his clean-up efforts. He took the names of the trio of Hogwarts students, promising to send them each a complimentary quill to show his gratitude for their assistance. Soon, the two witches and elderly wizard headed toward the dread tea shop.

****************************

Ground Engagement Team - Central Hogsmeade

Near the popular pranking store, Zonkos, Neville, Millicent, and their merry band of Ravenclaws were now in the thick of the fighting. Terry and Anthony had already dispatched the Carrow twins, perhaps permanently if the angle of Amycus' neck was anything to go by. Neville was engaged with Antonin Dolohov, who was an excellent duelist trying very hard to kill him. Not getting out of the path of a cruciatus quickly enough, the unforgivable clipped him on the shoulder, driving him to his knees as he screamed in pain. It felt like his very bones were on fire. Before Dolohov could finish him, Millicent Bulstrode came to his rescue, quite literally cutting the dark wizard off at the knees. Disgusting, but effective, she used an expulso on his head. That particular dark wizard wouldn't be a problem for anyone else ever again. Still shaky from the pain spell but relieved to be alive, he found himself hoping that Millie's plans later didn't involve food.

"Thanks," he said.

"We have a date, I couldn't let that dark wanker ruin it," she replied with a sultry smile before turning and casting a deprimo on the ground at Macnair's feet, making him stumble, which allowed Luna to press her advantage.

"Confringo," the blonde Ravenclaw yelled, causing the Ministry's executioner to catch fire.

Millicent immediately sent an over-powered Diffendo toward him, separating his head from his body. She considered it a fitting end for the man who had dispensed similar justice on innocent creatures for nearly 20 years.

Luna looked a bit shocked at the evidence of the violence all around them, but she quickly schooled her features. Her father always said, 'the only good Death Eater was a dead one,' and she didn't entirely disagree. The five students left the carnage and much of their innocence behind as they headed deeper into the village.

*****************************

Aerial Assault Team - Hogsmeade - West Side

The smoke coming from one of the residential lanes off the promenade drew Harry's attention, so he signaled the others. "Let's head over there, it looks like they might need our help."

Even if they hadn't been in Hogsmeade, it would have been clear that the house in front of them was a wizarding dwelling. Despite the huge flames engulfing the structure, they could make out multiple turrets and chimneys, part cottage and part castle in its aesthetics. Harry thought the fire resembled a falcon, but that was obviously his eyes playing tricks on him. The fire was obliterating everything in its path: the toys in the yard, the storage shed, and it had just spread to a nearby tree which was burned to ash in seconds. If they didn't do something soon, it would burn through the whole street. "I am going to land and see what I can do," he told the team.

"Harry- No!" Ron shouted, grabbing the bristles of his friend's broom in an attempt to stop him. "What are you doing?!"

"Ron, let me go! That fire could take the whole neighborhood, we have to try and stop it!"

"Harry! That's Fiendfyre- there is nothing you can do!"

"My Lord, he is right. It is too late," Daphne agreed.

"I refuse to accept that," Harry stated firmly. "There must be something."

"Look," Dean chimed in, "Maybe we can at least warn the other houses, there might be people in them who don't know what's coming." He turned to Harry, "But no foolish risks, damnit, you said it yourself!"

"Okay, let's split up. It will be faster," Ginny proposed. They all agreed, though Ron accompanied Harry anyway.

"I know you too well, mate, and I am not letting you out of my sight," he explained to the raven-haired wizard.

They used the next 20 minutes to warn as many residents as they could. Most people understandably didn't answer their doors given what was going on outside. Harry soon cast a sonorous charm. "There is Fiendfyre burning on your street, we are begging you to evacuate your homes to get out of its path!"

The others followed suit and loudly warned the area of the looming threat. The announcements brought people out of their homes far more effectively than their door-to-door campaign ever would have. As soon as they felt they had enough of the neighborhood out and willing to continue evacuation efforts until it was no longer safe to do so, the group re-cast their disillusionment charms, re-mounted their brooms, and took to the sky.

They started heading toward Zonkos Joke Shop where they could see spell fire indicating a likely confrontation, but the fighting stopped before they could reach it. Flying in another direction, they came across the largest concentration of both aurors and Death Eaters they had encountered thus far. Even in their masks, it was easy to pick out the Lestranges: Bellatrix, Rastaban, and Rudolphus all appeared to be in fine form, throwing unforgivables around like they were nothing. Avery and the elder Nott stood side by side, leaving a number of crimson-robed wizards and witches on the ground in their wake. Harry could also make out Peter Pettigrew, his horrible silver hand glinting in the afternoon sun. There were others as well, in the hooded mass, Corbin Yaxley and Thorfinn Rowle as well as their late classmates' fathers Crabbe and Goyle senior. The Malfoys' distinctive white-blonde locks were conspicuously absent.

The Aurors had greater numbers but were far more concerned about collateral damage, which constrained their tactics. They were clearly trained for urban warfare, but their opponents weren't playing by the rules. In short, they needed help. Again, trying very hard to remain under everyone's radar, the group of teens began unleashing a quiet hell on the Dark Lord's legion.

Ginny was trying to unmask as many as possible; no one would be able to fade back into respectable society when she was through. Daphne maintained her commitment to lethal force. Ron was working to create confusion and irritation within the Death Eater formation, using tripping jinxes and other minor pushing and pulling spells to knock them into each other both to degrade their offensive capabilities but also to encourage the undisciplined among them to start attacking each other. Dean was aiming for attrition, not only aiding Ron's efforts by throwing the occasional confundus or hostilia into the mix, but working to slowly wear the enemy forces down with his diffendos, defodios, and depulsos. Harry had been providing shielding reinforcement, hoping to minimize the Auror casualties. His offensive efforts, though, were focused on taking out the leaders of the group, most of whom were hanging to the back of the engagement as the organization's newest recruits were used as spell fodder to thin the Aurors' ranks.

The commander of Auror Company Bravo, Kingsley Shacklebolt, knew they were benefiting from outside assistance, but he wasn't one to look a gift Abraxan in the mouth. He wasn't quite sure who their Fairy Godparents were, since the aid had been too deadly in his estimation to have come from the Order of the Phoenix. Regardless, he appreciated it. Not a single Auror had been killed since their silent and invisible benefactors had joined, and the tide of the engagement had started to turn in their favor.

"Up there!" cried a red-cloaked figure, pointing to the area above the battlefield where Harry's aerial team was flying. All at once, at least 40 wands fired spells into the air.

"Fucking Proudfoot!" Screamed Daphne, as she took a cutting hex to her leg. "I should have stunned him on principle as soon as he stepped into the field!"

"Interlocking Shield charms, everyone," Harry shouted, heart stopping as he saw Ginny Weasley fall from her broom. Immediately, he, Ron, and Dean cast Arresto Momentum while Daphne somehow wove her summoning spell through their incantations to pull the younger witch to her side so they could ride tandem. Sighing in relief, he gritted his teeth. The time for subtlety had passed.

Harry dumped a veritable river of boiling water onto the Death Eaters, before freezing it all with an overpowered Glacius. Screams could be heard from below, but he pushed through. Next, he cast Fumos Duo, utilizing his wide area stunner in the chaos. They couldn't avoid it if they couldn't see it. When the literal smoke cleared, there wasn't a single Death Eater still standing. Without hesitating, the Aurors moved in to begin processing the combatants; they would all go into Ministry custody to await trial and sentencing. Kingsley stopped to salute the aerial team before resuming his orchestration of the mass arrest.

As the group debated where to go next, some sixth sense caused Harry to turn around. There, striding down the middle of the High Street of Hogsmeade, with Dementors and Giants in tow, was a familiar tall, black-hooded figure. His terrible snake-like face was whiter than a skull and gaunt, while his gleaming red, slit-pupiled eyes seemed to focus on Harry, even from a distance. With icy certainty, he felt the final tumblers fall into place; Fate would not be denied. Lord Voldemort had arrived.

*****************************

Search and Rescue Team- Hogsmeade

Hermione's small team had reunited at last, with Aberforth breaking off from the group to lead a contingent of villagers they had found in shops on the west side of town, like Dogweed and Deathcap and J. Pippin's Potions, back to his pub to send on to the school. Sebastian along with wig maker Archibald Bennett and Zonko's clerk Bilton Bilmes would be flooing from the joke shop to Honeydukes with refugees they had gathered from places in the town centre, like Tomes and Scrolls and Gladrags. From the sweet shop, Ambrosius Flume and his wife would allow them to take the passage from their cellar to Hogwarts 3rd floor corridor. The professors who had remained behind to protect the school aided by Susan's team were organizing food and shelter for those seeking protection at Hogwarts.

The five 7th years carried on with their sweep of the village. While they had managed to give first aid or arrange additional treatment for many, there had been others who were beyond their help. Hannah had been the one to discover two of their classmates dead behind a burnt out building, both with dark marks gracing their left forearms. Justin and Michael had been first on the macabre scene near Zonkos. Michael had stoically turned the others away, sparing them the nightmares and giving Justin some privacy while he vomited. They were no use to the dead.

Padma's fear had been growing all day; there had been no sign of her twin, no matter how broad their search. Had she been kidnapped? Was she lying hurt or dead somewhere in the rubble? What would she tell their parents? Padma was the older, more responsible one. It was her job to look out for her sweet and reckless sister. She had nearly given up hope before she saw her sister's unicorn patronus, so similar to her own, battling a Dementor. "Come on!" She shouted at the others. "They need our help down there!" She ran toward the melee without waiting for a response, only to come face to face with pure evil.

He was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. To her horror, his scarlet gaze fixed upon her as his lipless mouth curled into a sadistic smile. "What do we have here?" He asked, his voice high and cold as his long white fingers reached out to touch her cheek.

She was frozen to her spot, so terrified she couldn't even flinch as the spider-like digits neared her face. The next thing she knew, he was yanking his hand away from her face to swipe at his own. It came away smeared in red from a small cut below his right eye. It seemed Voldemort was still human enough to bleed.

"Oy, Cotton Bud!" yelled a familiar voice, which prompted the Dark Lord to lob a bright green killing curse at the speaker; her insanely brave sibling. Out of nowhere, a slab of stone flew into the path of the deadly viridian spell, firing marble shrapnel into the crowd as it shattered upon impact.

Harry Potter stepped in front of Parvati, subtly banishing Padma into Hermione's waiting arms and out of Voldemort's immediate reach. "My sincerest apologies, Tom, but I'm afraid we started without you."

*****************************

26 June 1998 - Hogsmeade - High Street

At Harry's announcement, Lord Voldemort's cold, high laugh rang out over the assemblage, its mirthless cruelty amid the death and destruction his followers had wrought jarringly juxtaposed with the brightness of the midday sun and balmy summer breeze. "Harry, may I call you that?" The Dark Lord did not wait for a response. "As this is my party, nothing starts until I say it does." His dark cloak billowing behind him, he took a step closer to the younger wizard, sharp red eyes capturing defiant green. "However, I think this momentous occasion requires a bit more privacy, wouldn't you agree?" Voldemort raised his wand and sent a deadly wave of magic into the surrounding crowd, driving them away with brutal force and without distinguishing between friend and foe. With a flourish, he erected a powerful ward, trapping them both inside just as Albus Dumbledore arrived on the scene in a flash of Phoenix fire and song. The headmaster sent several powerful spells into the dome, but it didn't even flicker.

Harry's classmates; the Auror squads; and members of the Order led by Dumbledore soon had more to concern themselves with than Harry's duel, for the giants; dementors; and what appeared to be freshly constructed inferi had decided this was their cue to begin the second wave of attack. At the Gryffindor's unconcealed horror, Voldemort smiled. "That's right, Harry, my faithful followers continue to serve me in death as they did in life."

Adopting a dueling stance, Voldemort continued to speak, "To business then, since our respective forces appear to be appropriately occupied. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against Harry Potter." At the snap of his fingers, ropes sprang from thin air- a technique Voldemort had used against him in several encounters, but Harry was no longer a helpless child. Rather than wrapping tightly around him, they dissolved on contact. Wasting no more time, Harry flicked his own wand and the force of the spell that emanated from it was such that Voldemort was forced to conjure a shining shield to deflect it. The sound of the spell striking the shield reverberated over the street, momentarily distracting several magicals from their own battles, even with the protective wards serving as a mostly impervious buffer. Harry's spell had visibly gouged and scorched the Dark Lord's shield, and the force of the strike appeared to have injured his hand.

Voldemort looked mockingly approving, even as he shot a barrage of spells, the majority of them likely to be fatal if landed. "How unexpected, my young adversary. Have you finally learned the truth of what I told you about power and those too weak to seek it?" Harry was forced to weave and dodge, sometimes shielding or deflecting. As a killing curse escaped through the dueling ward from inside, causing a nearby tree to catch fire, Voldemort predictably turned to an old standby. "Are you feeling brave, Harry? Knowing you have so little time to live, and so little left to live for?" The skeletal wizard flung a blood boiling curse through the shields toward Hermione, who by chance alone happened to lean to the right as the spell whizzed by her.

For the first time since the confrontation had started, Harry felt icy tendrils of fear grip his heart. He couldn't bear for anyone else to die in the name of this madman's crusade against him. Thankfully oblivious to the true depth of the impact of his previous actions on his opponent, Voldemort continued his monologue. "Make no mistake, I am going to kill you today, Harry, in front of all of these witnesses. You who are pitiful and have escaped me only by luck and through the skill of others. A quirk of wand lore will not save you this time. Your death will destroy the spirit of the resistance, and they will bow before my greatness."

Harry couldn't contain a snort, as one of the spikes he had transfigured from a pebble on the ground with his new secondary wand, Rowan and Thunderbird feather, pierced Riddle's shoulder. He was grateful for the Ministry guard whose unseemly interest earlier in the year had pushed him to finally acquire a wand whose core did not share an affinity with Voldemort's; though it sounded as if the Dark Lord had also taken steps to divest himself of his boyhood wand. Regardless, he knew it was not yet time to employ the other wand he had recently come to command. "You find the prospect of your death amusing, do you boy?" Voldemort ground out as he wrenched the shard free.

"I find your delusions of grandeur humorous. If you make me a martyr, the cause against you will only become stronger and more united. You are nothing but a terrorist; a blight on the wizarding world. Whether I am dead or alive, no one will bow to your tyranny."

"No one? What about you? Bow to Death, Harry." At Voldemort's vicious smile, Harry felt his spine curve, just as it had in the graveyard three years prior, as though a huge invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward. This time, however, Voldemort pushed harder, and he felt something snap. Red hot agony surged through his body, and he couldn't contain his gasp of pain.

"That hurt didn't it, Harry?" The Dark Lord asked with faux concern, "You don't want me to do it again, do you?" Indeed, Harry did not want a repeat, but he forced himself to remain upright as he could hardly battle Voldemort effectively from the ground. "Crucio," The Dark Lord hissed, because of course he had to cast that unforgivable at him.

Mercifully not taking further advantage of Harry's plight, the Dark Lord switched to his second favorite activity after torture: pontification. "I know spells of such power that you can never hope to compete." Gesturing around him, red eyes crazed, "Everyone has now seen proof of the immensity of my power, mightier than any living wizard."

Harry's preferred method of magical combat was highly physical, and his currently reduced mobility was forcing him into a corner. Letting his irritation show, he interrupted the self-styled Dark Lord. "Honestly, either shut up or get some new material. I think I have heard some of this from you twice already. It is getting old."

This enraged the Dark Lord, which in retrospect was perhaps not a great idea. Spells flew fast and furious between them, with Harry only barely managing to hold back the tide, now almost entirely on the defensive.

Desperate, Harry brandished his wand like a whip, causing a long thin flame to fly from its tip and wrap itself around Voldemort. He frowned, his Phoenix wand was more effective with fire spells. Voldemort gleefully turned the flame into a serpent, which rebounded on its caster. Harry spoke to it in parsletongue, causing it to crawl back to Voldemort before dissolving into a puddle of vapor and water at the dark wizard's feet. Mimicking what he had seen Dumbledore do at the Ministry, the Thunderbird wand more than up to this task, he coaxed the water to rise up and cover Riddle like a cocoon of molten glass. For a few seconds, Voldemort's form was shimmering and indistinct but clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass. Unlike the Headmaster, Harry did not relent. The snake-faced wizard sank to his knees, and Harry thought it might be over soon. Then, in a second that lasted an eternity, Lord Voldemort broke through the elemental shell with an explosive force that sent Harry flying into the dueling barrier.

Harry was certain he had lost consciousness for a few seconds, but the urgency of his task quickly pulled him back above the surface. He was in pain, though he couldn't feel his legs. Realization struck. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Voldemort sensed it too, for as the barely-human-looking wizard rose to his feet, unsteadily, Harry couldn't help but note in satisfaction, he spoke with false pity, "Defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged."

Dragging himself into a semi-sitting position, blood running from his mouth, Harry spat. "Must you be so trite and derivative? I didn't realize you intended me to die of boredom."

Predictably, Voldemort cried, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry sent his own signature spell hurtling toward the mad man, "Expelliarmus!"

The two spells collided as a jet of green light issued from Voldemort's wand and a jet of red blasted from Harry's. Meeting in mid air, a narrow beam of shimmering light connected their wands. It couldn't be...surely not again? This time, however, rather than splintering into a golden, dome-shaped web, the beam dissolved with a bang like a cannon blast accompanied by a blinding flash of light that temporarily stunned everyone in the vicinity as both spells hit their respective targets square in the chest.

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In-Between

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, Harry came to in a bright mist lying on a white floor that was neither warm nor cold, but simply there. He sat up slowly, expecting the movement to be accompanied by pain, but there was none. Indeed, his body appeared to be shockingly unscathed. For it was not merely the marks of the last 30 minutes that were absent, but every scarring vestige of the last 17 years of his life: Tabula Rasa. Further examination revealed that he was naked except for the invisibility cloak he had wrapped around himself and the ugly black ring on his finger. The Potter and Black signets which he had become accustomed to seeing on his right hand, however, were nowhere to be found. He retained Dumbledore's wand as well, but none of the others; not even his glasses remained in his possession. Harry was alone in this bright open space that had invented itself before his eyes with only the Spoil, the Boon, and the Bequest. He was the only person there, except for—

He recoiled. Except for Death. For, who or what else could the scythe-wielding, skeletal figure in the tattered black shroud be?

"So, I am dead, then?" Harry asked with enviable calm.

"That is the question, isn't it?" The Specter replied, not actually answering. "Please, have a seat." The implement Harry thought was probably typically used to sever a soul's last ties to life could also apparently conjure comfortable chairs. "I have a story to tell you and a proposition." With no reason to refuse, Harry sat as he was bid.

Once the mythical entity had also claimed His seat, He spoke in a voice that sounded like a barren, winter wind and shriveled, dry leaves. "You may call me Maut or Thanatos...or Saja, if you prefer." Tilting His head to the side at Harry's blank look, and taking in His companion's appearance, He added, "Perhaps Dullahen or Gwynn ap Nudd are more familiar to you? No? Who am I in your culture then?"

"Death," Harry answered softly, more than a little confused.

"Simplistic, if uninspired," the Shade lamented, nodding. "You may call me Death."

"Thank you," Harry responded, struck slightly by the absurdity of it, but lacking anything better to say. He prided himself in being unfailingly polite to anyone who wasn't a total git or maniacal dark lord.

"I understand that you were kind of in the middle of something out there, and truth be told, it was keeping me rather busy as well, so I will make this as brief as possible."

"You see, long ago there were three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. On their journey, they reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. Being versed in the magical arts, however, they were undeterred. They simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. As you can imagine, such a feat immediately caught my attention, so I intercepted them. They had after all cheated me out of three souls, and I was already behind on my quota for the month. I took their measure immediately and realized they would likely be easy victims of their own hubris. To that end, I offered them each a prize for 'outwitting' me, though they had clearly done no such thing."

Harry noted that Death appeared to be enjoying recounting this tale, though he had no idea where it could be leading. For some reason he thought perhaps Ron had told him a similar story at one point, but everything from the last few days was rather hazy, so he couldn't be sure.

"The oldest brother asked for the most powerful wand in existence, a wand that would always win duels for its owner. Rather cliche if you ask me, but then Antioch's tastes did run toward the pedestrian. Regardless, I obliged and fashioned him a wand from an Elder tree growing on the bank of the river. Between you and me, the second brother was a truly arrogant twat, and his request reflected these shortcomings. You see, he asked for the power to recall others from Death. Can you imagine the nerve? Still, a promise is a promise, so I carefully selected a stone from the riverbank for him to use to bring back the dead."

Harry gasped, embarrassed at his interruption of the God-like being. He now remembered why this was all vaguely familiar and stared down at the ring in horror. Harry thought if Death had had eyebrows one would surely have been raised at him.

"The youngest brother, Ignotus, your ancestor if I am not mistaken, was a bit less convinced of his own efficacy than his siblings. That clever little bugger asked for something that would allow him to go forth from the bridge without being followed by me. So, I gave him my very own Cloak of Invisibility," Death made a vague gesture toward the thin fabric that protected Harry's modesty in this in-between place. "Quite unwillingly, I might add."

"Once our transaction, as it were, was through, I permitted them to leave. Within the week, I had reaped the soul of the eldest brother, the braggart! Shortly thereafter, I was able to claim the soul of the second brother as well. Driven mad with longing for his lost love, he saved me further trouble and took his own life, the poor sod. In contrast, I searched for the youngest brother for many years, to no avail. Ignotus was my proverbial white whale until he passed on the cloak to his son, at which point he went with me gladly, almost as if we were friends." Death was looking a bit nostalgic when he said, "As you can imagine, someone in my line of work doesn't exactly make a lot of friends."

Death suddenly rose from his seat, and Harry felt compelled to follow. Was this how it was for others when he stood? If so, he regretted that he hadn't shown just a bit more patience with them when he had been alive. The Specter steepled his bony fingers as he paced in a small circle. "These items: the wand, the stone, and the cloak, are collectively known by some as the 'Deathly Hallows.' The legend goes that the individual who manages to take possession of all three becomes the so-called 'Master of Death,' a ludicrous concept to be sure. Still, as you are Hallowed in my Hallows, so to speak, I have a mutually beneficial proposal I would like you to consider."

Bowing his head to the Shade, Harry replied, "Of course."

Death did truly appreciate a properly respectful mortal. "I suggest a simple exchange. My Hallows for your soul." At Harry's horrified look, Death elaborated. "I mean, if you return the gifts I fashioned for the brothers, then I will send you back into your body so you can continue your fight. I will not reap your soul, despite the fact that it is now only tenuously tethered to your mortal coil due to the aptly named killing curse. It is a good deal, and not one I offer lightly," concluded Death.

Thinking of both prophecies and fearful that, if true, it might make it nearly impossible for anyone but Harry to defeat Voldemort, he accepted. Harry handed over the ring first, absently noting that the Resurrection Stone had cracked, perhaps when he was thrown into the ward, right down the vertical line in the center of the odd triangular crest. Immediately breaking the stone free from its golden cage, Death appeared giddy at its return. Looking at the boy, who had thus far demonstrated no avarice for either his life or the Hallows, he turned it over in his hand three times and three spirits appeared. In this not-place, they were as substantial as any living being. His father led the group, notably taller than his son and wearing the same clothes in which he had died. They really did look remarkably alike, as they were nearly of an age. James' hair was untidy and ruffled, and his glasses were a little lopsided like Mr. Weasley's. He wore a warm smile as he embraced his child. "Harry, you have been so brave, and we are so proud of you."

Sirius was next, tall and handsome and younger by far than Harry had seen him in life. He too held Harry tightly. "I love you so much, Pup. You have to go back there and look after Remus for me. He is a mess without me, you know?" Harry nodded, tears in his eyes.

Lily was last, and her smile was widest of all. She pushed her long red hair back as she drew close to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his face hungrily as though she would never be able to look at him enough. "I know you will fight, my darling, and I know you will win. You are so, so loved, and you must never doubt it."

As soon as they had come, they faded away. Harry felt a peace and contentment he had never known. He turned to Death and gave his thanks, though that didn't seem adequate in the face of the gift he'd just received. How much would most people give for even one moment more with their loved ones after they'd gone? He supposed that was both the beauty and danger of the stone. He was glad Death had recalled it to His domain.

Harry handed over the wand next and then quickly unwound himself from the cloak in order to offer it as well. "Humans," Death muttered at Harry's blush, using the scythe to conjure the wizard a robe. Pausing for a moment, Death took the measure of the man in front of him before giving back the wand. "You will need this, as Fate's chosen," he pronounced, almost sulkily echoing the words of the prophecy as the cloudy vapor around them faded completely to white.

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26 June 1998 - The Middle of the High Street - Hogsmeade

Harry awoke once more on the ground, battle raging around him, his chest and back aching almost more than he could tolerate. At least Cruciatus could be lifted... He saw that Voldemort, who was also on the ground, and appeared to have also been knocked out by Harry's spell, was stirring. He wondered idly how long his little tete-a-tete with Death...and wasn't that a real mind fuck?...had lasted.

Knowing that there was no way he would be able to duel properly with his current injuries, Harry decided to leverage his greatest strengths: raw power and an unshakable will. Dementors and other undead creatures of the night were roaming the village, rampaging and terrorizing. How long before they reached the school and the youngest students? He had to act. Not waiting for Voldemort to fire any spells, because this wasn't really about him or Voldemort any more, he drew the Elder Wand in one hand and his trusty Holly and Phoenix feather in the other. He unbound his power in a way he never had before, had quite honestly never been able to before. He poured it all into his casting with the intent, not to kill, but to purify the world. It wasn't any kind of true spell, but a wish, a hope, for the innocent to be spared and for those who perpetrated atrocities to be punished per the oldest laws of this world and the next.

It poured out, a blinding light, touching everything in its path. He saw frightened looks at it ripped through the streets, toppling giants and destroying dementors and inferi while leaving most wizards untouched. Harry didn't think that he could keep it up, but he dug down in to push a little more anyway. The light had shattered the dueling shield almost instantly, and Voldemort's magically constructed body and broken soul, quite literally positioned at ground zero, had been obliterated. Harry felt empty and hoped his job might be nearly done. In his hand, the death stick was an immortal instrument dispensing justice on the mortal plane.

Death stood, invisible to all. He smiled as he wielded his scythe, reaping the souls of the wicked. When he came to what remained of Tom Riddle, he liberated the last piece of his fractured soul. More contemptuous even than the three brothers, this wizard sought to escape Death's clutches for eternity through acts most foul, and now for eternity these fractured parts would toil, never whole, in the darkness of Hell. A punishment most fitting. Death turned to his erstwhile Master. He did rather remind the Shade of Ignotus, though this one was unquestionably more noble and self-less. Sighing, he pulled off his cloak; perhaps he would take the wand and leave it in trade... a gift for a worthy Champion.

As Harry's vision grew dark and his grip on the Elder wand grew slack, he felt the skeletal hand of Death stroke his hair and drape something over him, just as a mother might tuck in her sleepy child. A voice of arctic air and dying leaves told him he could let go, that it was okay to rest, that his tasks were done for now. At last, Death claimed what was his, and Harry knew no more.

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June 29 1998 - King Edward VII Hospital, London

It had been almost three days since Voldemort's defeat, and Harry Potter had barely stirred. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been among the small group of trusted agents assigned by Albus Dumbledore to keep vigil over the Potter boy at his currently 'undisclosed' (at least to the public and most in the Ministry) location, was worried. Surveying his very muggle surroundings, his mouth tightened at the array of tubes and machines with their incomprehensible displays and blips. He still didn't fully comprehend why the Man-Who-Triumphed was here instead of St. Mungos, though the senior Auror did not dispute that there were security concerns with the magical hospital. Further, he had been told that Harry would be receiving the best care, as the Queen herself had made these private arrangements for the Duke of Norfolk. Taking in the teen's battered appearance, however, he remained skeptical.

Kingsley, who was playing the part of Harry's doting Uncle Malik insofar as the hospital staff was concerned, palmed his wand and stood quickly to get between Harry and the door, as he made out faint footsteps approaching the room.

It was only his replacement in the rotation, Severus Snape. Regardless, the Auror raised his wand. "What is your Patronus and why?" Albus had supplied this security question, and as Snape visibly paled as he clutched the door handle in a white-knuckled grip, the Auror once again marveled at the headmaster's casual cruelty. This was obviously not a run-of-the-mill inquiry to confirm an identity, not that Kingsley had been laboring under such a misconception given the answer he had been told to expect, but to see Severus Snape of all people lose his composure truly brought that fact home.

"It is a Doe," came the quiet response, "Just like Lily's." At the almost soft look that flashed briefly across the bitter man's face as he took in Harry's limp form, the Auror revised his assessment of Dumbledore's motivations. Perhaps, as when a surgeon cuts away damaged flesh, it was a hurt - not to punish- but to facilitate healing.

Severus Snape, or Father Octavius, as he was called in these halls because for reasons known only to himself he refused to wear anything but black robes even in the muggle world, moved closer to the bed. He was ostensibly studying the numbers on the different screens, but more likely avoiding eye contact with the Auror until he had himself well in hand. He finally turned, "Have there been any changes?"

"No," Kingsley answered simply. Then, in part to satisfy his curiosity and in part to dissipate the lingering awkwardness between them, he asked, "Why is he being treated here?"

"There was too much magic used during the confrontation, it created something like a thaumaturgical dead zone. Thus, just as in similar documented cases, Potter's injuries will not respond to magical treatments." At Shacklebolt's look of disbelief at the very idea that there could be a case even remotely like Harry's, Snape sneered. "He is also suffering from such severe magical exhaustion that even minute exposure to magic is painful at this point, and likely harmful to his core and recovery. Once he rebuilds even a small reserve, that impact should decrease, at which point we will be able to utilize potions to help stabilize him and possibly even speed up some healing. However, unfortunately, his injuries will likely continue to resist direct magical treatment. He is in for a long recovery."

"How long?" Kingsley couldn't help but ask. Dumbledore hadn't told him anything, and he knew Alastor was itching for details; he wanted Potter at the Academy in the Fall.

"I am hardly an expert, but I know it will be measured in months not weeks...and you and your boss," Snape spat, clearly aware the Auror wasn't asking only for himself, "Need to prepare yourselves for the possibility that there may be some aspects of this from which he never fully recovers."

Kingsley was shocked. It wasn't as if there weren't permanent afflictions or incurable maladies in the magical world, one need only look at the Longbottoms or Moody himself for that matter; but the convalescent period was rarely so prolonged, and Harry was so young.

The chart at the end of the bed told Snape nothing, demonstrating an admirable commitment to patient confidentiality. "Have there been any additional cardiac developments?" The Potions Master finally inquired clinically, as if he hadn't been the one in the room just over 48 hours ago when the muggle machines had all started blaring and flashing because Potter's heart had stopped beating; as if he hadn't watched horrified as they used an electrical current to literally shock him back to life.

"The healers removed the temporary pacing wire this morning. They said that since his uh...intrinsic heart rate had stayed high enough without intervention for over 24 hours, it was best to take it out to avoid infection or other complications," Shacklebolt recited dutifully. Snape didn't say anything, but the Auror could see the other man was relieved.

"Have they asked you any questions about his injuries?"

"No, though they did ask me about his childhood. I made it very clear to them that I had not raised him, and in fact hadn't even been aware of his existence until about two years ago."

Snape wore a puzzled expression, "Why would they do that, I wonder?"

"Are you joking? Queen or no Queen, the lad has quite obviously not been properly taken care of...and it is bound to be impacting his recovery."

"That's ridiculous! Potter has been catered to since birth, just like his spoiled father."

"I know you're not that stupid, Severus, so I am going to pretend I didn't hear you say that. We are far past the point where you needed to decide if the cost of clinging to your biased fantasy was worth it. Can I even trust you here, or should I stay?"

Severus looked as if he had been slapped. "How dare you?!"

In his deep, calm voice, Shacklebolt stated bluntly, "You should be asking yourself that question, Snape...how dare you?" Both men remained that evening, not speaking to one another. The nursing staff assumed they were likely praying for their young patient and left them to it.

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1 July 1998 - King Edward VII Hospital, London

Harry blinked... he was in a sterile, white room. Had he died again? He tried to turn his head to the side, but unlike his last visit to the in-between place, he felt pain. Before he could formulate a question for Death, if he was even in attendance this time, he remembered. This wasn't the first time he had awoken. He was in hospital, his uncle...no that couldn't be right...because Vernon wouldn't...confused, he slipped back into the darkness.

"Father Octavius," Potter's normal day nurse called, pulling Snape from his introspection. "I think our patient will be waking soon. Are you able to contact his uncle?"

"Of course," the dark-eyed man replied. "I need a few minutes, will you be here?"

"Yes, Father. I will be taking vitals and arranging for the consultant to come and speak with you."

"Thank you," Snape said, inclining his head before taking his leave. He debated placing a proximity charm on the door, but decided it could potentially do more harm than good at this stage.

Returning less than 5 minutes later, he saw that she was indeed still performing her basic health checks. "His uncle will be here shortly, Madam," Snape reported.

Suddenly, Harry started thrashing weakly; there was something covering his face making it hard for him to breathe. He wanted it off. His monitors started beeping again, as he had disconnected one of the devices in his struggle. Snape rushed to the bed. "Father, help me hold him in place, that's right...with his spinal injury, Mr. Lam doesn't want him moving too much yet."

"Harry, can you hear me? Calm yourself, you're alright. Everything is alright." While Snape's personality was anything but soothing, his voice was another matter, or so he had been told.

"Oh dear, the wound on his chest is bleeding," the matron noted absently, expertly stripping Potter to the waist and cleaning the jagged cut with some kind of disinfectant before reapplying a clean dressing. The shape of the mark was eerily reminiscent of the famous scar on his forehead, though certainly larger. Did that mean...had Potter survived the killing curse again? The possibility left Snape too shocked to do much more than stand there. Thankfully, the arrival of both Kingsley and the senior consultant Mr. Kai Lam a few minutes later jostled him from his daze.

The addition of another familiar voice pulled Harry back to consciousness, this time with slightly more awareness. Was that Kingsley? He tried to speak, but what came out didn't resemble any known language. "Good Afternoon, Your Grace. I am glad to see those lovely green eyes." As the consultant spoke, he performed a number of physical tests; surveying reaction times and involuntary responses. "Are you experiencing any numbness or tingling here on your left side?" He inquired with perfect neutrality, not a single hint of anything positive or negative evident in his voice.

"Some," Harry rasped.

The specialist continued his examination, and then slid what must have been xrays or images from a ct or mri scan out of the large envelope he had brought with him and studied them. "I don't believe this numbness is due to any injury to the spinal cord itself or permanent nerve damage, I think it is the result of pressure due to swelling. When the swelling goes down, what you are experiencing should pass. These tremors, however, concern me much more."

Snape and Shacklebolt made eye contact; surely that was a residual effect from exposure to cruciatus. "Regardless, it is early days yet, and you have been through quite an ordeal." The bespectacled consultant rounded on the other two men in the room, "Your Grace, this man is your next of kin?"

"Yes," Harry replied simply, and wondered if the Auror had breathed a sigh of relief; it was difficult to tell without his glasses. Harry had after all not exactly been in a position to be made privy to the subterfuge. Speaking of..."Do you happen to have my spectacles?"

"Yes, here you go, lad," Shacklebolt replied with an air of familiarity that he had never once displayed toward Harry during the entirety of their acquaintance. He gently placed the frames on Harry's face.

"Thank you," the raven-haired teen replied, sleepily, noting as his vision cleared that it had been Snape's dulcet tones he had heard earlier. Why was the man wearing robes? Unable to spare the mystery any further thought, he was already losing his battle to stay conscious. The last thing he heard was the consultant informing his "uncle" that despite the number and severity of Harry's fractures, he preferred not to operate.

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3 July 1998 - Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry- the Headmaster's office

"Severus, you said Harry's magical core is showing signs of recovery?"

"In the most basic sense, yes."

"Then I think it is time to bring him back to Hogwarts."

"What?! You can't possibly be serious...Albus, Harry is still...he was badly injured. He has weeks of therapy and treatment ahead of him."

"He has been there for a week already, a few days with Madam Pomfrey, and I'm sure he'll be right as rain."

"As I and several others have explained to you, his injuries will not respond to magic. Even once his core has fully recovered, the best we can hope for is that Potions can be used to treat some of the underlying factors slowing recovery or that his own internal magic will be able to make some progress with healing."

"I have identified a very safe place for him to stay for the summer, once Madam Pomfrey releases him."

"Oh?" Snape inquired, already knowing that he wasn't going to like what he heard, no matter his dislike of Potter - entirely on the boy's own merits, thank you very much, Auror Shacklebolt.

"Yes, Harry needs to return to the security of the blood wards."

"You want to send him to his muggle relatives in his condition? Have you finally lost your mind?!"

"I have been in touch with them, and they have agreed to keep him for a few weeks, provided they receive appropriate monetary compensation. That should be plenty of time for the dangers, both health and external, to pass."

"Did you not hear me when I told you that his heart stopped a mere 6 days ago? Please don't do this. I am certain the muggle consultant will prevent us from taking him."

"I assure you, Severus, they will allow us. Harry is permitted to choose to continue to receive care under private auspices."

"But is this Harry's choice, or is it yours?"

"Harry will agree with my reasoning."

Deciding that further argument would serve no purpose, Severus kept his remaining reservations to himself. He did, however, resolve to contact the werewolf. The headmaster was clearly in the wrong, and it was getting ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: linuxrocs, Papillon Magique, and FotoDi. Thank you all so much for the kudos, kind words, and much-needed encouragement! Also thanks to Boxtersushi and AnimeFan1995 for the new bookmarks and solybear for the kudos.
> 
> Many descriptions of Voldemort, Battle specifics, and the like have been drawn directly from or inspired by Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber Of Secrets, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Information about the Hallows and the Tale of the Three Brothers are drawn from the series as well as The Tales of Beedle the Bard. This story is AU.


	9. Owls, Impatience, and Entrance Exams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just after the defeat of Voldemort; Part 1; updated 14 Aug to merge it more closely to the Final Battle Arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see disclaimer on title page in Chapter 1. This story has a number of AU elements, a few of which become more apparent in this chapter. Voldemort’s reign of terror and eventual defeat went down slightly differently, so Remus and many others lived, and he and Tonks are flirting but haven’t yet married and had Teddy. This got a bit angsts, despite the humor. Enjoy!

~5 July 1998 - Surrey, England~

He had a headache, and, while it wasn't the epic, skull-splitting, nausea-inducing affair it had been two days ago, it was still decidedly painful. He had developed a few theories about his hellish migraine, since it was front and center in his mind, literally and figuratively.

It could have been neurological, or even a side effect of getting hit with the killing curse. Viewed within the broader context of the shit-show that was his existence, however, Harry thought the most likely explanation was that he was being punished for something very bad he had done in a previous life. The raven-haired wizard's surroundings certainly supported the hypothesis.

The smallest bedroom in 4 Privet Drive- ugh. Dumbledore refused to see reason; Voldemort was dead for the sake of Merlin's hairy balls! History, finished, and with no hope of ever coming back! Ding Dong, the Dark Bastard was dead, not merely dead, but really most sincerely dead. Surely, surely, that negated the need for whatever questionable blood protection was afforded to him while captive in this dreadful house?

But no.."think of his followers, my boy," the barmy old coot had chided. "You are in no condition to fight off even a single determined Death Eater. You'll see, this is for the best...Lemon Drop?" It had taken a tremendous amount of self control not to tell Dumbledore exactly where he could shove that lemon drop. But, he hadn't, so maybe he was growing up; or maybe, he was just too tired to fight anymore.

Truthfully, Harry was afraid that the way he had killed the snake-like wizard had also killed most of his remaining followers, courtesy of the mark their master had branded into their flesh. He didn't know for sure how many of the Death Eaters the Ministry had taken into custody survived, but he thought he remembered Shacklebolt intimating there was an ongoing investigation into the incredibly high rate of mortality in the DMLE holding cells in late June. Harry tried to take solace in the fact that Snape was last seen impersonating a priest, but very much alive, despite suspecting the Potions Master's comparative good health was tied to his loyalty to the Order over Voldemort, as well as Harry's own rather fickle relationship with Fate - the bitch. Still, most of the information he had was based on rumor and innuendo, so perhaps it was all just a coincidence. He hoped so, because he wasn't ready to face possibility that, if true, he was responsible for a great many deaths. Sometimes he felt 70, not 17. And today, he felt 700.

Groaning, he tried rolling over. Sharp, hot pain, erupted all over his body, like hundreds of knives stabbing him at the same time. The defeat of Voldemort had not come without a price, mental and physical. "Damnit," he thought. "I am going to be sick." He tried to ride the wave of pain, taking deep breaths to quell the nausea. It still floored Harry that he was no longer under sustained medical care, though very much not a fan of healers or hospitals, it seemed too soon to just leave him to his own devices or his relatives' tender mercies. He had died, or at least hallucinated a very convincing approximation, only 9 days prior. And, whether he had actually spoken to a personification of Death or not, he knew he had been struck by the killing curse. The wound on his chest was still quite sore and looked like it was going to leave a rather ugly scar...just what he needed. He couldn't really muster too much surprise at the situation, though, considering the last time it had happened they'd left him on a random doorstep the very next evening.

Swallowing down the rising threat of vomit, Harry curled in a ball, only to gasp in agony. Calming his trembling limbs and rapid heart beat, he took stock of his situation. Even aside from his aching back and terrible headache, he felt unwell. Exhausted, shaky, and slightly afraid it had taken all of his magic to kill the serpentine prick. Would he even be able to attend the Auror academy at this rate? He knew that the chaos at the ministry and within the wizarding world at large had resulted in changes to the class intake and delayed the start date, but would it be long enough? Harry immediately felt guilty about his petty and selfish concerns; he knew it was worse for many others.

Pushing aside dark thoughts, and trying once again to get comfortable enough to sleep; he heard a noise on the stairs. Sighing, Harry began, "Look, I am sorry I called you a bitch before - it was rude, and I didn't mean it...mostly, but can we please not do this now? I don't think I can..."

The door swung open and a very familiar voice questioned him in concern, "Harry- who were you talking to?"

"Remus!" he cried. Struggling to sit up, Harry's friend and former professor rushed over to help. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked, a bit breathless.

"I'm here to take you home, Cub."

"But I thought I had to...that it was safer for me to stay here? I promised the Headmaster I would..." Harry trailed off, because he would literally rather be anywhere else, including the Malfoys' dungeon.

Dozens of emotions flickered through Remus' gold-green eyes, but all he said was, "That's...well, rubbish is the nicest thing I can say about it. Harry, you have properties all over the world, many with excellent ward systems already in place. Furthermore, you could commission the goblins to design and install the most state-of-the-art Magical security that gold can buy anywhere you would like. There is absolutely no reason you need to be here, and well...Dumbledore and I had words about it. If I had known..." he stopped, taking in Harry's gaunt face and noting his tremors and the periodic twitch in his left hand that he hadn't been able to completely suppress. "Never mind, you and I will be leaving here shortly, and that's all that matters." Remus paused for a moment, leaning in as if to embrace Harry before thinking better of it. He settled for gently brushing the teen's wayward hair out of his face, but even that garnered a wince, which in turn caused a sharp intake of breath.

Exhaling slowly, as the pain caused by involuntarily tensing his muscles receded, he joked, "Sorry about that, I have it on reliable authority that I am a bit of a mess right now." As if to reinforce how very true that was, he was struck by a sudden wave of vertigo. Self-conscious, he closed his eyes until it passed. He chuckled dryly, because clearly his apology to Fate had been slightly premature. Remus probably thought he was crazy, but honestly, if he couldn't laugh about it he would probably cry, and Harry was worried that if he started crying he might not be able to stop.  
To be continued...


	10. After the End- Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Remus deal with the aftermath of Voldemort’s defeat - the Hurt/Comfort is a bit intense here, but everything will be ok in the end. - Part 2. 
> 
> There will be three more chapters after this one covering the events of the summer before the characters fully complete their “transitions” into their post-Hogwarts lives, setting up for the sequel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Bear with me, it will lighten up. This story has a number of AU elements, a few of which become more apparent in this chapter. Voldemort's reign of terror and eventual defeat went down slightly differently, so Remus and many others lived, and he and Tonks are flirting but haven't yet married and had Teddy. There are also some 'Ancient and Noble House’ dynamics alluded to here. Please see disclaimer on title page in Chapter 1.

5 July 1998 - still in Surrey, England 

Retracing the threads of his earlier thoughts, Harry blurted out the question that had been on his mind before his little episode, "How did you convince Dumbledore? He was pretty adamant about everything this morning. Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and I think even Snape, demanded he change his mind, but he refused. I mean, I could be wrong, because I was pretty out of it...but that's what I think happened."

A vicious look quite at odds with Remus' typically kind demeanor briefly passed over his face before he sheepishly admitted that it wasn't a story for polite company. "Dumbledore didn't really comprehend the severity of your injuries or how comparably slow and inferior muggle healing methods are, despite being informed repeatedly. All that aside, where you stay and what you do have nothing to do with him, and he really should learn to keep his overly long, crooked nose out of your business before someone breaks it for him, again."

Blinking rapidly, but smiling, Harry knew this moment, this feeling, would power a hundred patronuses. Remus had jeopardized his relationship with a man Harry knew the other wizard held in high esteem, for him; Remus had fought for him, had not taken no for an answer — something Harry could say about depressingly few people in his life; all of it...for him.

"So," began Remus, looking meaningfully at Harry and the surrounding room, "how do you want to do this?"

Suddenly exhausted beyond measure, Harry was confused. Did Remus mean how were they going to leave? How were they going to decide where to go? How were they going to navigate the complexities of their friendly but also somewhat parental relationship now that Harry was on the cusp of 18 and being lauded as the savior of the wizarding world for the second time in his life? "Um...do what exactly?" he finally asked, unable to prevent himself from laying back against his pillow, even though the movement was excruciating. He bit his lip hard to keep from crying out, because Remus looked worried enough about everything already.

Unfortunately, just as a coppery taste assaulted his tongue, Remus lost his mind. "Harry!" The werewolf was frantic. "You're bleeding...here..." he had transfigured something into a cloth and pressed it gently to Harry's mouth to wipe away the blood. Harry must have dozed off for a bit shortly after that, because he lost some time between the bite and opening his eyes to see Remus watching him with concern etched deeply on his face. His former professor must have used a few healing and cleaning spells, since his lip didn't feel sore or swollen, and he could detect the distinctive tingle of Tergio on his clothing.

"I'm sorry, I'm..."

"Hey now, none of that," Remus soothed, reaching out with his hand before quickly dropping it to his side. Catching Harry's gaze, he explained, a bit embarrassed, "I ...as you know, I am rather tactile in my affection, especially for a Brit," he joked. "So I naturally find myself wanting to comfort people, including you, with a hug or a touch, but I...I don't want to hurt you." He held up the hand he had hastily lowered before to demonstrate. "The habit is clearly more ingrained than I realized."

Grinning at one of the main father-figures in his life, Harry replied honestly, "There are worse habits to have, and you definitely shouldn't break yourself of that one."

Returning Harry's smile before excavating their conversational debris to retrieve an important topic, he said, "Going back to your original question..." at Harry's perplexed look, he clarified, "about what we are going to do."

"Right," Harry's foggy brain vaguely remembered experiencing some kind of mini-existential crisis about that a bit ago.

Seeing that Harry was following, Remus continued, "Unfortunately, we can't apparate in or out of this property due to the wards...which is frankly stupid. You should be able to come and go by whatever means you need to, for your own safety if nothing else."

"I came this morning by portkey," Harry shared. "It isn't my favorite form of travel, but it seems to be the best choice considering."

Remus sighed, "I would agree, if it weren't illegal for me to make one without a license...which I don't have. And because this is a muggle area, it would definitely be detected, and it would be easy to trace it back to my magical signature."

After that pronouncement, Remus paced around the small room looking momentarily like a caged wolf before turning to reveal, "I have a few proposals for you, but I am not sure how you are going to feel about them. Why don't you let me get your things ready while you rest for a few minutes, and then we'll go through some options?"

"One of these 'options' isn't the Knight Bus, is it?"

Laughing far louder than the comment warranted, Remus shook his head, "No, Cub, we won't be taking the Knight Bus, I promise. We really just need to get a few blocks away from the house, and then I can apparate us home."

"And where is home for you?" Harry queried, feeling a little exposed by what his question probably revealed to someone as perceptive as Remus.

"For us, Harry," his honorary godfather corrected, gently, "for as long as you want it that way. It's in Monmouthshire, in Wales, quite close to the border with England. Have you ever been to Tintern Abbey?" he asked.

Harry, who had never been anywhere that he could recall aside from Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, Surrey, and a few places in London, was confident in his response, "No."

"I will take you there when you feel up for it, it is a beautiful ruin on the River Wye. I think it was built in the early 12th century...I really should know, because your mother loved that place. She was very keen for her and James to do a vow renewal there on their fifth anniversary." Remus seemed lost in his memories for a moment; it went without saying that the couple hadn't lived long enough to fulfill that dream. "Before they went into hiding, Lily probably took me there a dozen times or more. As newly minted Aurors, James and Sirius were always working, and I am sure she believed as the fellow academic of the group, I would be most likely to appreciate the history she found so fascinating."

"I've never heard any of that before," Harry said softly.

Remus looked stricken, his guilt an almost palpable thing, "I know, Cub, and that is my fault. I am so, so sorry. I have no excuse."

As someone similarly inclined, Harry instantly recognized the tendency toward self-flagellation. He resolved to nip it in the bud then and there before it could take even deeper root. "Moony," Harry began, deciding he needed to pull out the big guns, testing the nickname he wasn't typically comfortable using with Remus - despite repeated invitations to do so- because he not only felt he didn't really have a right to it, but also because it seemed to remind his pseudo-Uncle of all the people he had lost. "You don't need one; there's nothing to forgive."

Voice choking up, Remus responded, "We will just have to agree to disagree on that, Cub. I am sure your parents will have plenty to say to me on the subject when we meet again."

Wanting desperately to veer away from the grim turn of the discussion, and honestly more than a little curious, Harry asked, "Have you lived there long?"

"Actually, no," replied Lupin. "I didn't even know the property existed until you were able to unseal and execute your parents' will last year. Its proximity to the Abbey was no doubt its primary appeal for them. But Harry, if that isn't...I mean, if you would prefer to go somewhere else, we can do that. Palazzo Nero is a beautiful property in Venice just off Piazza San Marco, if you don't mind overwrought decor with a light torture theme...and pigeons, lots and lots of pigeons. You've told me you would like to travel."

Chuckling a little at Remus' description, because it really did capture the House of Black's signature interior design je ne sais quoi. "I think I am going to have to pass for now, unless you can guarantee that there are house elf heads mounted in the entrance hall- that could be a game changer."

Snorting at the unexpected comment, Remus conceded, "We should probably hire a curse-breaking team to go through it first anyway, just in case."

"Why didn't Sirius move to one of these places abroad?" queried Harry, proud of himself for only stumbling slightly over the name.

"For many reasons, the simplest of which was his status as an escaped convict. Despite being recognized as Heir and later Lord Black by blood and magic- which is how he ensured the title and estate passed to you- he was never able to officially claim his ring at the bank. The Goblins were willing to work with him to a surprising degree, but because of the Ministry arrest warrant, it would have been a violation of treaty for them to give him the ring. And, without undergoing the formal ascension rites, he didn't have complete access to the Black vaults and holdings. Like his trust vault, however, 12 Grimmauld Place, as the ancestral home of House Black and Sirius' own childhood residence, was an exception to these limitations. His access to these were predicated on the vows and oaths he swore when Lord Arcturus named him Heir Black as a child."

"That's...complicated," pronounced Harry. "I feel like I need a class about all of this." He looked up at Remus, hopefully, "Is there something like that available?"

"I don't know, we can ask around. There are certainly books you can and should read, and it isn't at all uncommon to engage a tutor for estate management and the like. I will look into it," promised Lupin.

"This all reminded me that I may have a solution to our transportation issue. A few months ago an associate of mine informed me that as the 'Lord of an Ancient and Noble House,' I am permitted to make portkeys whenever I like- no license or advanced permissions required."

Remus looked surprised, "Do you know how to make one?"

"I do," Harry confirmed. "The Headmaster taught me. Though..." he admitted, trailing off, "I don't think I can right now..."

"You most certainly cannot! Remus scolded. "Severus told me you were suffering from severe Magical exhaustion and that you could easily slip into a coma if you cast so much as a warming charm." The former professor appeared increasingly distraught at the idea of Harry even thinking about using magic. He didn't go so far as to demand the teen's wand, but it was a close thing.

"Can't I just delegate that authority to you somehow?" Harry inquired. "You would be making it on behalf of House Potter, since I am unable to do it for myself at present."

"It's possible, even probable, that there are allowances for such a circumstance, but I don't know enough about the authorities or loopholes to risk you having to visit me in Azkaban if we are wrong."

"Remus, the penalty is a 1000 galleon fine, not jail time."

"Whatever you say, Auror Potter," Remus teased. "Let's focus on finishing up the things that won't get us in trouble with the law first though, okay? I am inclined to just carry you downstairs. Would that be alright?"

Harry sputtered, "My crutches are over there, I am sure I can manage. I'll be too heavy for you anyway, I am hardly a child."

Remus shot Harry a disbelieving look, "Even if you didn't look like a stiff wind could knock you down, Werewolves are very strong. I assure you, I won't have any difficulties."

Moving on as if Harry didn't still have significant objections to the plan, Remus held up a phial from the trunk. “Do you need a potion?" He had observed that there were bone strengthening and invigoration draughts, some heavy-duty pain potions as well as several milder versions, a bevy of nutrient potions, and a few doses of what appeared to be a variation on Pepper-up stored neatly in the top compartment.

Harry paused to assess himself, he was still tired and slightly nauseous, and his head and body ached terribly. Reluctantly, he replied, "Perhaps in a bit, but I probably shouldn't take anything on an empty stomach."

Making a non-committal noise, Remus turned away from Harry so he could process his rage at Dumbledore without upsetting his charge. The inner wolf broke through for a moment, but after a few deep breaths, Moony was back under wraps. There would definitely be pranking, so much pranking.

Confirming his suspicions, Remus casually inquired, "You haven't eaten anything since this morning?"

Perhaps he hadn't been as nonchalant as he thought, since Harry frowned at him before responding, "I hadn't even noticed until you said something, to be honest. I'm not really hungry."

"Excuse me for a minute, Cub. I'll be right back." Remus forced a semblance of a smile onto his face before he left the room. Casting a silencing charm, he cursed a blue streak and ended up needing to use a reparo on the kitchen table before he was calm enough to start making an early supper. Knowing Harry would want something light, he put together sandwiches from what he found in the icebox, pouring milk and cutting up some fruit to go along with it. After another cursory glance through the cupboards, he grabbed a flexible straw and added a package of chocolate digestive biscuits to the pile.

He carried everything upstairs on the large wooden serving tray he had spotted sitting on the buffet in the formal dining room. He would make sure to return everything to its proper place before they left, speaking of..."Harry," called Remus quietly, as he approached the door, hoping to avoid startling the younger wizard in the event he had fallen asleep in Remus' absence. Reminding himself that extreme fatigue was a hallmark symptom of magical exhaustion hadn't done much to subdue his panic when Harry had essentially passed out after he started bleeding from the mouth. Remus had felt relief as soon as he had discovered that the source of the blood was a small split in Harry's lip, but it had been a harrowing few minutes while the boy was unresponsive and bleeding after seeming fine, if a bit tired, just a few moments prior.

The sight that greeted him as he entered the room added to his already significant concern over the teen's well-being. Harry had taken off his glasses and was rigorously massaging his right temple and a spot in the middle of his forehead. The poor kid obviously had a nasty headache on top of everything else. Hopefully eating something would help.

Setting the tray down on the shabby desk next to the bed, Remus put a few biscuits on one of the plates that already contained a chicken sandwich and some fruit. Eyeing the trembling limbs, he opted to set the plate of food on Harry's lap rather than passing it to him directly. Harry thanked him effusively, giving Remus the impression that it wasn't very common for anyone to make Harry a meal outside of Hogwarts. 

Harry carefully picked up the fork and concentrated on stabbing the fruit and getting it into his mouth without making a spectacle of himself; the last thing he wanted was for Remus to offer to feed him. He found it more challenging than it should have been. Once the younger wizard had eaten a biscuit and managed a few bites of the sandwich filling, Remus stopped hovering and sat at the desk and began eating himself. After finishing most of his food, he leaned back and asked, "Where have your Aunt and Uncle gone off to?"

"I think they said they were going to visit Vernon's sister, Marge. They left this morning shortly after I arrived."

"Oh," responded Remus, deceptively casually, "And when did they say they would be returning?"

"I don't know if they actually said, but they usually stay about a week,"Harry replied helpfully, oblivious to the other wizard's growing ire.

"Do they?" Remus ground out between clenched teeth. Forget pranking, he was going to kill the headmaster. Slowly...and with great enthusiasm for the job.

Harry was no longer even pretending to pick at his food, so Remus took his plate and set it on the tray. He then turned to ask, "Do you want another biscuit or some milk?"

"I could use a drink," Harry agreed. Remus obliged, bringing the glass of milk over and holding it so Harry could sip from the straw.

Finally, Remus gathered their dishes and went down to set the kitchen back to rights. Within a few minutes, no evidence of their meal remained. He had even banished the rubbish.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Harry was steeling himself for the short trip to the facilities. He felt considerably better after eating, so now seemed as good a time as any to test his mobility.

Leaning both forearm crutches against the side of the bed, he took a survey of his body. The numbness in his left hand and leg that had been intermittently plaguing him since he woke from the final battle was hardly noticeable at this moment. He knew that if he tried to sit straight up, it was likely that the pain from the broken vertebrae in his back would make him lose consciousness, or at least wish he had. He hypothesized that if he rolled to his right side and then eased himself into an upright position, it would not only hurt much less but also position his legs such that getting into a standing position with the aid of the crutches wouldn't be too difficult. This was all hypothetical, of course. He decided it would be foolish to attempt anything without Remus in the room with him, so he waited patiently for his return.

Remus bounded up the stairs, more than ready to finally leave this house. "Remus!" Harry called out, causing the former professor's heart to drop to his stomach. Rushing into the bedroom, he was beyond relieved that everything seemed fine.

"What can I help you with, Cub?" Remus asked the younger wizard, trying to get his pounding heart back under control.

Blushing a little, Harry explained, "I would like to use the loo, to wash up a bit and such."

Nodding, he approached the bed, noting that Harry had moved the crutches closer to presumably aid in the endeavor.

"I am going to turn to the side and put my legs over the edge of the bed as I sit up, or at least that's what I am going to attempt anyway."

"You tell me what you need, Harry," Remus offered solemnly. "I'm right here."

"Okay," Harry said aloud, as much to acknowledge what Remus had said as to fortify himself for the next step. With the other wizard's help, Harry shifted closer to the edge of the bed before clutching the side of the mattress with first his right and then his left hand to get the leverage necessary to slowly turn to the right while simultaneously sliding his legs off the bed to get his feet touching the floor. The brace he wore made the action difficult, and he was breathing heavily, but it was all still manageable. He started to tell Remus to grab under his left arm, but the man was already there, helping him up and making sure he didn't fall on the floor. "Thanks," Harry panted.

Using gravity and the momentum from the turn, he was able to prop himself up on his right elbow to complete the swing in one surprisingly smooth motion. Feet on the ground now, but almost facing the bed and leaning heavily on the mattress, Remus took him under both arms to help ease him into a standing position. "Too fast," Harry bit out, as he worked to keep his hips perfectly aligned with his spine so as not to stress or jar his back any more than necessary. The final few inches before he was fully upright were the worst, the pain made his vision go white for a few seconds, and he was fairly sure his knees buckled. But Remus was there, and it soon passed; he found some unexpected relief in standing for the first time in over a week.

He couldn't bear his full weight, and the pressure and compression from even the small amount that Remus wasn't carrying was uncomfortable. Presumably this was what the crutches were for? Seeming to read his mind, Remus wrapped his right arm under Harry's arms and around his torso, allowing him to lean forward a bit, which hurt his chest a bit but kept nearly all the weight off his hips and back. Remus used his left hand to grab the crutches, positioning them carefully under Harry without releasing any of his weight.

"Alright, Harry?" solicited Remus.

"Yeah," came Harry's breathy reply

"I want you to lean on the forearm crutches as I slowly loosen my hold, okay?"

"'Kay," was the truncated response.

"Yell if it's too much," Remus insisted, with a worried frown.

"It's fine," Harry gasped out, tone somewhat belying his words.

"That's all you, now. How do you feel?" questioned Remus, hands still poised mere inches from Harry's waist, just in case.

"I'm here."

"Do you think you can take a step?"

Harry hesitated. "Not without your help," he finally responded. "At least not yet."

The two wizards slowly made their way to the Dursley's upstairs bathroom. Remus took most of Harry's weight as he shuffled along the floor, balancing with the crutches, feet barely clearing the carpet as he sort of drug himself along. Harry broke out into a sweat about halfway there, lightheaded, willing himself not to faint.

The following 10 minutes were some of the most humiliating of Harry's entire life to date, which was saying something given that he had spent a significant portion of his formative years living in a boot cupboard, and he hadn't known he was called Harry until he started reception at age 4.

Afterwards, Remus settled Harry as comfortably as possible into the desk chair in the bedroom and helped him take doses of multiple potions before discussing their final arrangements for departure. If only Harry could do even a little magic things would be easier: he could invoke some kind of employment bond to the House of Potter which would lend more legal weight to the argument of 'delegated portkey authority,' or even transform into his animagus form, which would be much easier to transport via muggle means until they could get to an appropriate apparition point. As none of that was possible, however, the best options currently on the table included taking a muggle taxi to a semi-secluded play park about 2 miles away and then apparating to Wales. The bathroom experiment proved there was no way Harry could walk the required three to five blocks, and carrying him that distance in his current form would be pretty conspicuous and could get them entangled with muggle law enforcement.

They also considered making the portkey and just paying the fine if anyone harassed them, or reaching out to someone trustworthy with a license to make one for them. They even briefly talked about going to the Ministry to purchase a portkey to somewhere random and then apparating from there. Though, the last option could potentially take more than a day, and they both agreed it would be undesirable for the Ministry to know anything about their plans or gain any possible insight, even indirectly, into their final destination.

At one point Harry had suggested they ask Dumbledore to make them one, since this was all basically his fault, but Remus categorically refused and indicated he didn't want Dumbledore to know where they would be any more than the Ministry.

After a few minutes of deep thought, Harry burst out,"We're idiots. Do you know what a wheelchair is?" absently scanning the book shelves for a dictionary or encyclopedia he could use to demonstrate if needed.

"Brilliant! Yes, I do."

"Can you transfigure one?"

"I don't see why not..." Remus replied, considering his spell repertoire. "I think if we use an actual chair as the base, it will work better. Let me experiment."

He helped Harry to the bed and then began casting on the desk chair. It took a few tries, but eventually they had something very suitable. "Let's get you in here, and I will levitate it downstairs. I can't believe I didn't think of some kind of hover chair. Honestly, I am very surprised they didn't give you something like this to help you get around, at least at first."

"I don't really remember a lot about my time in hospital, but it may have been part of the plan before I was absconded with."

"I'm sorry, what?" Remus asked, sharply.

Harry shrank back a bit at Lupin's anger, but still answered the question. "I think I was checked out of the hospital under Madam Pomfrey's supervision earlier than recommended."

Well, now he would be planning two murders; it was going to be a very busy summer. Perhaps he could convince Minerva or Severus to lend a hand.

Resolving to contact a healer and/or muggle medical doctor as soon as they were settled in the cottage, he picked Harry up off the bed, largely ignoring the teen's weak protests, and carefully placed him in the wheeled chair. He shrunk and gathered Harry's things, cast a sticking charm to the seat of the chair, and levitated Harry to the ground floor.

"I don't think we even need the taxi, you said we just needed to get outside the ward boundary, right?"

"Correct," Remus confirmed.

Thrilled that the path from the front door to the pavement lacked stairs and appeared quite smooth, Remus still surreptitiously cast several cushioning charms for the journey.

Roughly 20 minutes later, the pair arrived at a small community garden area containing several sufficiently secluded areas appropriate for apparating. Remus pushed Harry to a denser area of greenery, deciding that the sweeping curtain of the large Willow tree there provided enough cover. Before releasing the sticking charm and helping Harry stand, Remus gave him a very stern warning. "I need you to make sure you don't instinctively try to provide any magic for this side-along trip. It will probably feel quite natural to do so, but you have to fight it, as it could be very dangerous to you given how depleted your core is right now. I promise I can apparate us both the 200 kilometers to the house without any assistance. I have the destination firmly in mind, and I am extremely determined to get us there safely. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Once Remus managed to get Harry to his feet, the latter leaning heavily against his honorary Uncle in an effort to remain upright, he reversed his transfiguration of the chair, not wanting to risk a muggle observing its reversion to form at a later time. Knowing the Dursleys might eventually miss their property but deciding there was little he could do about it without risking more magic than necessary in such an exposed location, he left the chair where it was; after all, muggles always seemed to be leaving random bits of furniture on the kerbs and such, surely this wouldn't be seen as too odd if discovered.

"Ready?" Remus questioned at last. At Harry's affirmative reply, he turned on his heel, and the pair vanished into thin air.


	11. Summer of Love - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 1998 - Harry spends the summer with Remus in Wales, bonding and healing. Tonks flirts with Remus, friends visit, and Harry gets a real birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter take place in July 1998, immediately following 'After the End - Part 2. There are only about 3 chapters remaining in this story before the sequel: Harry Potter and the Auror Academy: Year One. Hope you enjoy.

5 July 1998- Hiraeth House - Monmouthshire, Wales

Harry and Remus landed in the middle of a bright, cheerful room with a quiet pop. The werewolf relaxed slightly as he felt the heavy protective wards re-seal around them. The trip had been too much for Harry, and the injured wizard who was now passed out in Remus' arms. He carefully shifted his firm grip on the teen, adjusting the slight weight as he carried him into the quarters that had been lovingly prepared for his stay. Laying Harry gently on the bed, he pulled the window curtains closed and fussed over the blankets before dropping into a chair in the corner of the room and putting his head in his hands. Scrubbing at his face with his palms, he sighed. Harry needed a healer they could trust, and Remus needed help figuring out what to do next.

His first instinct, to the everlasting shame of the part of him that would always be a Marauder, was to contact Snape. The Potions Master had not only been instrumental to his efforts to get Harry away from the Dursleys and Dumbledore's scheming, but he also possessed significant knowledge of the healing arts generally and Harry's case in particular due to both his magical training and placement in the Headmaster's inner circle. It was, however, precisely because of the man's position as well as the epic levels of personal enmity he harbored towards Harry coupled with Remus' own strong residual dislike that made him a poor choice for this task. Severus most certainly had critical information he would need to extract in order to move forward, but it was in everyone's interest for the former professor to look elsewhere for the kind of assistance he required.

Standing in the darkened room, he paced, seeking reassurance from the light rise and fall of Harry's chest as he slept. He told himself that everything was going to be okay, because his cub was with him now. Still, it was only four days until the full moon, and perhaps only three before the strain would force him to slow down considerably. He could already feel the pull of the celestial body, the wolf prickling under the surface of his skin. The last remaining and most precious member of his original pack, a child, was hurt. Moony wanted someone to pay, and Remus was not completely averse to the idea. Far more important at this juncture, however, was finding a few people he could rely upon to keep an eye on Harry while he recovered from his transformation and help him chart the way ahead.

His brilliant mind seized and discarded many possibilities, but everyone he could think of was too tied in with the Ministry or Dumbledore or too invested in Harry in all the wrong ways; not to mention that no one he had considered so far, other than the greasy git, had even a semblance of either the knowledge or connections their situation necessitated. Stumped, he reviewed his options again. There had been that healer who had treated him in France a few years ago, but Harry was too important to entrust to someone with whom he had only a passing acquaintance. Momentarily focused on the air-tight oaths- maybe even an Unbreakable Vow- he would insist upon before whomever he selected would be allowed to know even the identity of their patient, much less treat him, he was struck by sudden inspiration.

Remus pictured her pale, heart-shaped face and dark twinkling eyes. Her personality just as bright and effervescent as her customarily short bubblegum pink hair would suggest. There was a risk certainly. She had personal loyalty, not something a Hufflepuff such as Nymphadora took lightly, to both the Ministry and Dumbledore. Yet, he couldn't help but think that her commitment to what was right and maybe even to him - as unbelievable as he still found her tentative and to this point entirely one-sided steps to take their relationship beyond the bounds of friendship- was stronger. And wasn't her father a healer, a muggle-born healer who might know someone who specialized in both mundane and magical medicine and techniques? Admittedly, her mother still terrified him, but he would need to secure the discretion of all three members of the Tonks family if this were to be successful.

Feeling better than he had for a week, he quietly left Harry's bedroom, casting a monitoring charm Lily had taught him almost 18 years ago on his way out. It was most commonly used by parents with very young children to alert them of any movement or noise in the vicinity of an infant sleeping or playing out of their immediate line of sight. Heading straight for the hearth in the small parlour off his kitchen, Remus lit a fire and knelt in front of the flames. Reasoning that Dora was likely to be home on a Sunday evening, he tossed some floo powder in and called out her address. He wasn't particularly fond of making or receiving floo calls, but it was the most common form of instantaneous communication among magicals.

"Nymphadora," he called through the fire. "It's me, Remus. I was hoping you might be willing to come through. There are some important matters I would like to discuss." He felt a bit bad about the fact that she would likely assume he wanted to talk to her about their 'relationship,' inasmuch as there was really anything to address beyond what he had already told her, namely that he was too old, too poor, and above all too dangerous to be a suitable romantic partner.

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus. It's Tonks!" Came her slightly irritated reply. He supposed it had been bad form to use her much-despised first name, but he was still mischievous enough in his heart of hearts to enjoy winding her up a bit from time to time.

"Will you come through?"

"Yes," she agreed, sounding pleased and a little breathless, despite or perhaps because of his earlier teasing.

"Give me a minute to adjust the wards. The address is Hiraeth House," he reminded her.

She acknowledged and waited for him to tell her it was safe to floo. "Come on over," he said at last.

Unsurprisingly, the younger woman practically fell out of the fireplace into his arms as her foot caught on the corner of the large rug he had placed in front of it. The notoriously clumsy witch was able to quickly regain her balance, however, likely because she had so much experience with tripping and nearly falling. "How have you been?" She asked, smiling up at him as he released her arm so fast one would think it had burned him.

"Busy," he replied, "which is why I have asked you here." He motioned for her to sit, as he discreetly checked on Harry through the spell. "Would you like some tea?"

"I'd love a cuppa, Remus."

"Coming right up."

Tonks took a moment to survey the cottage. She had only visited him here one other time, and it had been a rushed affair. She found the small sitting room very much to her liking. It was light and colorful, filled with blonde wood furniture, books, and lots of natural light. It wasn't what most people would expect from the scholarly and somewhat somber personality the older wizard projected to most people. But, beneath that quiet, almost sad, exterior was a pleasant, devastatingly hilarious trickster with a kind and generous heart. The hidden optimist lurking under the surface, who she knew always expected the worst but wished upon shooting stars and held out a never-ending hope for the best no matter what life threw at him, fit in perfectly here.

As he returned with their drinks, the junior Auror found herself both excited and apprehensive about what the object of her recent affections wanted to share with her. She already knew him well enough to know that if he was just going to completely shut her down, more than he already had anyway with his self-pitying concerns and frustrating reticence, he would have either sent her an owl or avoided her altogether. The fact that he wanted to speak to her face-to-face boded well in her view.

"I meant to ask you before," she said, making small talk. "What exactly does 'Hiraeth' mean?"

With a slightly rueful look, he explained, "It's a Welsh word that doesn't have an exact translation in English. It's a sort of longing for home or for the way things were. It's a bit like nostalgia, but more...wistful, I guess. The Welsh often use it to describe a place - or even state of being - you can't go back to."

His description made her unaccountably sad, so she just nodded and drank her tea, which was exactly how she liked it even though she hadn't told him how to prepare it. The sweet, hot drink restored her ability to joke. "You really are a morose old git, aren't you?" She teased lightly. As she had expected, he laughed.

"I've never pretended otherwise," he told her, the sparkle in his eyes completely undermining the seriousness of his tone.

"I know, I know. You are a big believer in truth in advertising. Now, what did you want to tell me?" She asked with a smile, unable to prevent the flutter of her heart as she took in his rugged face and looked deeply into his gold-green eyes. Merlin, she was a hopeless case.

"I need your help," he informed her, with just a hint of desperation bleeding through his words.

"Anything, Remus. You know that."

"Thank you, but you need to hear everything before you agree. I think we will need to drag your parents into this as well." He took a deep breath. "I am going to need all three of you to swear an oath, perhaps more than one before this is all over." She looked surprised, but not as if she would refuse. "It involves Harry."

"Where is he?" She asked, concerned; the two of them had definitely formed a friendship over the last two years through her work on behalf of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix.

"Before I tell you, I need you to promise me a few things." To her credit, she immediately withdrew her wand and prepared to give him a magically sealed oath to guarantee her word.

He smiled at her, feeling a rush of affection for the younger witch. "I need you to swear that you will not tell anyone from the Ministry about any of this except Madam Bones, unless Harry or I give you express permission to do so, and only then if you are in danger of violating your employment oaths." She nodded, wide-eyed. "Most importantly, and I don't care what other oaths you may have sworn, you mustn't tell or even imply to Dumbledore or anyone loyal to him anything that you learn from me or Harry about his situation from here on out. I don't fully understand what is going on or how deep it goes, but as of right now, I consider the Headmaster an enemy of House Potter and House Black."

Tonks looked astonished at the declaration, but didn't question it. She swore her oath, and a blue light briefly surrounded her to signify the promise had been sealed and would be enforced by magic.

"Harry is here, with me, staying in my guest room. I don't even...Dora he is badly injured, but Dumbledore somehow convinced him to agree to leave the hospital and stay with his abusive muggle relatives. The whole thing is so...horrible that Snape...Severus Snape, for whom Harry Potter and his father and godfather before him are the bane of existence, contacted me and basically ordered me to rescue Harry."

"What?!"

"I know. Tonks, he is in so much pain; he can't even walk. When I got there, I learned his Aunt and Uncle had abandoned him. They were likely to be away for at least a week! He would have died, of starvation or dehydration... of using magic when his core is so compromised." The werewolf stood, practically sparking with agitation. "I mean maybe there were plans to have someone check on him, maybe spells to alert someone if his situation became dire... but who knows? And why put him through that? Harry has suffered more than enough."

"I honestly don't know what to say, Remus." She stood as well, stroking his arm to calm him. He unconsciously leaned into her touch, too distracted to notice he had just violated one of his self-imposed rules regarding the metamorphmagus. "But, I do know that my mum and dad will be able to help us. Give me a few minutes to explain things to them, and I will send you a Patronus message so you have time to prepare for us. Can we apparate?" She asked, curious.

He shook his head, "No, I am the only one who can. The wards extend out quite a distance from the house, too, since I own the land. Floo is the only way."

"I had to check; my mum hates to floo. She says it's 'undignified.'"

"Does she have as much trouble with it as you do?" he inquired innocently.

"You!" she shrieked, playfully slapping him on the arm. "It was just your rug. I will have you know that I have no problem flooing into the Ministry atrium in a perfectly respectable fashion. And for your information," she added in a very posh accent, "Andromeda Tonks nee Black is graceful in everything she does, and how dare you suggest otherwise, you uncultured knave!" She sniffed as she turned around, bumping into the table and knocking her mostly empty mug on its side. Remus could no longer keep the laughter that had been dancing in his eyes from bubbling forth out of his mouth, which naturally caused her to burst out laughing as well. The sounds of their mirth must have woken his charge, since he felt the charm he had set to watch the teen pull his attention away.

"Harry's awake," he explained, heading quickly for the bedroom. "I will be waiting for your Patronus," he called to her. Without further adieu, she tossed powder into his fireplace and leapt through to her childhood home.

Remus approached Harry's room, deliberately making enough noise in the hall that his entrance wouldn't catch the raven-haired wizard off guard. He opened the door and stood at the threshold. "Hey Cub, how are feeling?"

He thought it telling that the teen didn't answer, but instead asked, sleepily, "Where am I?"

Remus frowned, "We're at the cottage in Wales, Harry. Remember? We apparated here from your Aunt's house a couple of hours ago."

"I don't..." the young lord brought his right hand to his temple and closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking.

Alarmed, Remus rushed to the bedside. "It's just...we left the Dursleys' chair at the park." The older wizard relaxed as it became clear to him that Harry was laughing. Wiping his eyes and smiling widely at his guardian, he said, "Sorry...that just struck me as hilariously funny all of a sudden." As the green-eyed teen teen shifted in the bed, he couldn't contain his gasp of pain.

Prepared for dealing with that, Remus pulled two phials of potion out of the pocket of his robes. "Here. Take these," he instructed as he uncorked them, not letting completely go of either bottle as he helped Harry drink them. "The first one was a mild pain reliever, and this second one is a muscle relaxer."

Harry shuddered at the taste, which caused a sharp intake of breath. Remus knew Harry was hurting but didn't know what else to do to help. "Ugh...I swear, Snape uses all of his Potions knowledge to determine the most disgusting ingredients he can use and still get his potion to produce the desired result."

Remus chuckled, "That does sound like something he might do, doesn't it? Still, he did brew all of these for you, which is rather kind of him."

Harry looked a bit guilty, "you're right. It is nice of him, especially because I know he does formulate them for me specifically."

"What do you mean?" Remus inquired, puzzled.

"Well, you know Potions work because they react with a person's inherent magic, and within a certain spectrum those reactions are relatively standard. A magical potion won't work for a muggle, for example, but it will work for a squib, usually. And, the way it works for a squib isn't appreciably different from how it works for any other witch or wizard. But," Harry appeared reluctant to continue.

"Yes?" Remus prompted, somewhat fascinated as he had never really given this any thought before, though so far it all made sense.

"Well, when someone's power levels fall outside that spectrum, potions can produce different reactions. Maybe none at all, in the case of some squibs and all muggles, or maybe excessive or dangerous reactions for a very powerful wizard. Apparently Potions masters can re-configure Potions to help boost or mitigate these reactions, as needed."

"I see," said Remus, and he did. Poor Harry. "Would you like a drink of water?"

"Please."

Remus went to the kitchen to fetch a glass, selecting a mug from the cupboard, because he thought the handle might make it easier for Harry to hold. He needed to get some straws. He returned and carefully handed Harry the cup, watching closely as he took it in his right hand and drank. Quickly taking the mug back and setting it on the nightstand, he noted with concern that his godson's left hand was resting limply in his lap. Following Remus' gaze, Harry stated, "It's a bit numb; my left is leg too," he admitted reluctantly.

Before Remus could say anything, a silvery jack rabbit bounded over to him and delivered a message in Tonks' voice. "We're ready, just let us know."

Remus clarified for Harry, "Tonks and her parents are going to come over and talk through some things with us. Ted's a healer and Andromeda is a...Slytherin; I think they'll be good friends for us to have right now." He concentrated on the wards, focusing on the elements tied to the floo system...there. He sent his own messenger back to let them know it was alright for them to come before turning to Harry, "I am going to send Dora's father Ted back here to examine you in private, and then I will come and get you so we can all chat, okay?"

"Okay," Harry responded, looking both bewildered and self-conscious.

"I'll be back in just a minute, Cub," promised the werewolf.

He reached the sitting room just in time to see Edward 'Ted' Tonks assist his daughter out of the floo followed by the elegant Andromeda stepping out of his fireplace like some kind of runway model. He knew he was being rude by staring, but her close resemblance to her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, made him wary before his brain kicked in and processed her light brown hair and kind eyes. "Madam Tonks," he greeted, bowing slightly, "Healer Tonks, Dora. Please come in."

As the trio moved away from the hearth and into the parlour, he offered them a beverage. "Perhaps in a bit, Mr. Lupin," Dora's mother replied for the family. "First, you must tell us what this is really all about. Where is Lord Black?" Remus was embarrassed to admit that it took him a second to realize she was referring to Harry.

"He is in one of the back rooms. I was hoping Healer Tonks would be willing to do a quick check-up on him, since I understand he was removed from a hospital in London against medical advice."

"What?!" Ted Tonks' typically mellow voice rose sharply.

"That is what I have reason to believe," Remus confirmed. "Then, when you're through, I could bring him out here to talk. There is a lot that I still don't know either, and I have a feeling we are going to need every bit of information available to us to make an effective plan."

The fair-haired, big-bellied man who was Tonks father stood and gestured to Remus, "Lead the way to my new patient, Mr. Lupin."

"Thank you," Remus replied, gratefully. "Ladies, if you'll excuse me, I'll work on that tea as soon as I return."

The pale blonde healer followed Remus into the bedroom just across from the cottage's only bathroom. Tapping lightly on the door as he entered, he said, "Harry, I have someone I would like you to meet. This is Auror Tonks' father. He is a healer with his own practice. He is going to do a quick exam."

"Lord Black," Ted addressed the teen; bowing with every bit of decorum his wife had managed to drill into him in their 27 years of marriage.

Clearly discomfited, Harry quickly replied, "Please call me Harry, Healer Tonks."

"Only if you will call me Ted, my lord," countered the large man with a smile, revealing the crows feet by his eyes.

"Deal," Harry agreed.

"I will leave you to it. Call if you need anything, and let me know when you are done. We have much to discuss." With that, Remus closed the door behind him and went to the kitchen to gather a tray for tea.

A few minutes later he placed the service, a porcelain Royal Albert rose pattern, on the low table in front of the sofa, since obviously a silver set would be most unsuitable for a werewolf. It had been a gift from his mother. They prepared their tea in an increasingly tense silence before Andromeda pounced. "Nymphadora informed me that you consider the headmaster to be an enemy of our House. Could you please elaborate?" She studiously ignored her daughter's scowl at the use of her full name.

"Perhaps I was being overly dramatic when I said that, but as you'll hear soon, his actions do not seem to be those of someone who has Harry's best interests at heart, to say the least."

Nearly 30 awkward minutes had passed, during which time Lupin had coaxed an oath from Mrs. Tonks, by the time Ted emerged from the bedroom supporting Harry Potter as they slowly made their way to the sitting room. Everyone stood, though Remus had jumped to his feet in anger. "If you had called me, I would have come to get him, Healer Tonks," the werewolf pronounced, his displeasure evident.

Taken aback by the other wizard's ire, Ted calmly justified himself. "You really shouldn't carry him. It could exacerbate his injury since it is very important to keep everything as aligned as possible."

Effectively chastened by the older man, Remus bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Ted Tonks smiled at their host, taking the sting out of his words. "I'll go over some dos and don'ts before we leave this evening."

"That would be much appreciated. Since I was forced to basically kidnap Harry from his muggle relatives, I haven't been briefed as much as I should have been."

"Okay, young man," said Ted, speaking to Harry who was relieved to finally be addressed directly, as he wasn't particularly fond of being talked about as if he weren't there. Andromeda glared. "Er...My Lord," Ted corrected himself. "You can sit in this nice sturdy dining room chair, with arms, for no more than 30 minutes." He helped position Harry in the chair so that his knees were level with his hips. "Mr. Lupin," he called, "Can you transfigured a low stool? He needs to sit all the way back, but keep his feet resting flat; a stool will help"

"Of course. And, please, call me Remus." The former professor converted a wooden box he sometimes used to hold correspondence into what the healer had requested.

"Perfect!" Exclaimed the blonde man, positioning the stool under Harry's feet. As he stood, he said, "And you must call me Ted." He walked over to the sofa and sat next to his wife, accepting the tea she had prepared for him. It wasn't as sweet as he preferred it, but it would be fine. He then discreetly cast an alarm spell set to go off in 30 minutes.

Now that everyone was settled, Remus requested that Harry tell them as much as he could remember about the last few weeks. It began as a trickle, grew to a stream, and ended in a torrent of information. He told them of the prophecies, the Hallows, including disarming Dumbledore per the Headmaster's previous arrangements and the gift from the Goblin King. He told them about the invasion of Hogsmeade, which elicited the first verbal reaction from the entranced audience. Nymphadora cried out, "That was you, Harry?!" She has been one of the Aurors under Shacklebolt's command that day. "You saved a lot of lives, you know."

A bit shy at her open admiration, Harry deflected, "It wasn't just me. Ron, Ginny, Dean, and Daphne intervened as well."

Remus touched Harry lightly on the shoulder, silently encouraging him to continue with the tale. So, he told them about battling Voldemort, being hit with the killing curse, meeting Death and offering the Hallows in exchange for the opportunity to finish the evil Dark Lord once and for all. He informed them of how desperate he had been when he cast the nameless spell that produced the light, and how he was sure Death had visited him again when it was all over and taken the so-called Wand of Destiny but returned the Invisibility Cloak to him. He revealed his shame over likely being responsible for dozens of deaths and his fear that he had used all his magic to defeat Voldemort. He told them what he could recall about his time in the muggle hospital and how Dumbledore had pressured him into telling the consultants there that he would be making alternative arrangements for care, ostensibly in the interests of both ensuring his safety and the safety of those aground him from the remnants of the Dark Lord's forces and to speed up his recovery by increasing his access to Potions and other magical treatments. Finally, Harry discussed Dumbledore's near obsession with returning him to his relatives' home as he believed it was the only place Harry would truly be safe from Death Eaters or others who would want to take advantage of his current vulnerabilities to do him harm.

"He was so convinced that his way was the only way, and he seemed genuinely concerned that something terrible was going to befall me unless I went there. So, in the end, because he wasn't listening to reason, I agreed to do what he wanted. I figured I would muddle through as I always had, at least until my birthday. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary since Remus arrived just a few hours after Dumbledore brought me there."

Andromeda spoke, her smooth contralto like warm caramel. "What I want to know is why Dumbledore, a bloody school master," Ted raised his eyebrows. His wife must have been really fired up, despite her serene tone, as she rarely swore. "Thinks he has any say whatsoever about what the Lord of our House does or where he stays!"

"I told him much the same," Remus disclosed to the group, adding wryly, "I can assure you, the argument didn't resonate."

Andromeda appeared thoughtful as she delicately nibbled on a fairy cake. "He takes these liberties because the wizarding populace practically throws them at his feet; they've been begging him to make their decisions for them, big and small, for more than 50 years. Plus, his long-standing position as the wise and benevolent Hogwarts headmaster essentially indoctrinates each generation of British witches and wizards to trust in him and look to him to solve all our world's problems. That kind of power, even with only the best of intentions and even when it is freely given and not sought or taken, is bound to go to someone's head. For Merlin's sake, you see it in the Wizengamot all the time: Lords Of Ancient and Noble Houses deferring to him to a ridiculous degree and falling all over themselves to do what he wants, or what they think he wants. He doesn't have to ask, political favors fall in his lap the way raindrops fall from the sky. It doesn't help that nearly the only ones who openly oppose him are truly bad men with destructive agendas."

"Perhaps the Headmaster's motivations were not as nefarious as I initially believed," Remus admitted begrudgingly. "But he actively prevented me from being with Harry in the aftermath, and the man hid his whereabouts from me so he could manipulate everyone into doing his bidding and so I wouldn't be able to disrupt his plans. What conclusion was I supposed to draw from that?"

She took a sip of her tea, before continuing. "While I can't even begin to imagine why he thought what he was proposing was the best option, I am certain it never once occurred to him to consider an alternative course after he had made up his mind. Still, I believe we should remain cautious in case there is more to all of this than ignorance and misguided priorities." She turned to Harry, "My Lord, has he asked you about the wand?"

"No. Truthfully, he has barely spoken to me since before I fought Voldemort except to try and convince me that it was safest for me to go to the Dursleys for one last summer. He had Auror Shacklebolt and Professor Snape stay with me when I was in London."

"Har...ah, Lord Black, may I ask what hospital you were treated at and who was your case manager?" Inquired Ted, glancing at his wife out of the corner of his eye.

Harry wasn't sure how much of their byplay was for his benefit, if any, but he nonetheless found it amusing. He could tell their pink-haired daughter was equally entertained. "Please do call me Harry, and it was King Edward VII's" the teenage wizard replied after a second's consideration.

Ted whistled, "Did the old man confound someone to get you a bed there?"

"I...I don't know..." Harry looked horrified at the prospect.

Remus interjected, "While I have no doubt there were liberal applications of confundo when needed, I understand that the Queen was happy to use her position as hospital patron to secure a place for the Duke of Norfolk when representatives of His Grace, likely the Goblins, reached out. She is known to have performed similar facilitation services for other Peers. If I know Gringotts, I am sure the estate was appropriately grateful to both Her Majesty and the hospital for their assistance during his stay."

Ted was astounded, and his face must have reflected as much. Mistaking the reason, Remus was quick to qualify, "The Queen was hardly calling for updates or sitting at his bedside or anything, Ted, she just had one of her people place a call because she sits on the hospital board, and it is known to cater to those who require discretion. I read in the Guardian she did the same for the Earl of Essex a few years back when he had a hernia repaired."

"No, it's just that I always forget that some of the peerages were created before the Statute of Secrecy, so naturally they exist in both the magical and mundane worlds." Internally he marveled, because the Duke of Norfolk wasn't some made up magical lordship, Harry was a proper peer of the realm by any standard. Before he could think on it further, the alarm he had set notified him the half an hour deadline was up. "It's time for you to lay down again, Harry, to take some of the stress off your spine. I can cast some spells on Remus' settee here or take you back to your room?"

Harry didn't fancy laying down in front of company in Remus' sitting room, even though he still had questions. Feeling pretty confident Remus would fill him in on everything, he opted for the bed. "I am a bit tired, even though I feel like I slept most of the day."

"It is because of the magical exhaustion," the healer explained as he approached the chair. "As your core recovers, your energy levels will as well," he reassured.

Getting out of the chair wasn't as easy as getting out of the bed, everything had stiffened up and it hurt. Also, his left leg still wasn't cooperating very well, which was starting to scare him. Ted and Remus together managed to get Harry ready for bed, with Ted talking them both through some best practices. He helped Harry remove the brace, which was something of a relief, as it had started to rub a bit uncomfortably in a few places. Ted cast a few cushioning spells on the orthotic, “I will get your files from the muggle hospital tomorrow and talk to your consultant. What was his name?"

"Mr. Lam...his first name might have started with a K?"

Impressed, Ted nodded, "He is a rather renowned spinal expert. Good. He may want you to wear this brace all the time for a few weeks, but it is pretty common for them to only be used when you are upright. Regardless, it will be okay for you to sleep without it tonight until we know for sure, especially if you are more comfortable." They gave Harry several more potions, including a stronger one for pain, and Ted made a note to procure an anti-inflammatory to reduce the swelling that was causing his left-side numbness. He then went about making sure the mattress was firm enough and placing a pillow behind Harry's knees. "I will be back tomorrow morning to check in and help you put this shell back on correctly, okay?"

Harry mumbled what seemed to be an affirmative response but was already succumbing to the effects of the potion. Ted frowned and took out his wand, turning to Remus, "I don't like to use magic directly on patients whose cores look as rough as Harry's, but this is a very non-intrusive and indirect diagnostic, which should be fine. Plus, his magical levels aren't nearly as low as I was expecting."

"Harry is a very powerful wizard, Ted," Remus reminded him.

"That is indisputable," the healer agreed, Voldemort's demise at his hand among other things bearing that out.

"He is quite underweight, Remus. That's partly why this potion hit him so hard. You need to feed him up, lots of calcium. His discomfort might make him a reluctant eater for a few days yet, but that will pass. Lots of healthy snacks within easy reach in the meantime."

Remus had intended to make sure Harry knew to call if he needed absolutely anything, but it was a moot point as the younger wizard was already fast asleep. Re-setting the monitoring charm after rearranging the blankets around his cub, he followed Ted back to the parlour.

As the two men reclaimed their seats, Ted spoke through his findings. Patient confidentiality wasn't a concept robustly adhered to in the magical world, and he figured Remus would stop him if he was overly concerned about the two women being privy to some of Harry's business. "He isn't as bad off as I feared, considering what he told us this evening about the killing curse," the large blonde man began. "The wound on his chest from the spell appears to be healing fairly well, but you are going to have to watch how the brace rubs against it. I detected a bit of bradycardia, but without a baseline to compare it to, I can't say if that is abnormal for him or not."

"Snape told me that they had to use a defibrillator on him his first night in the hospital and ended up fitting him with a temporary pacer because his heart rate kept dropping too low."

"What!? Shit!" He marched back to the bedroom and returned a few minutes later. "I added a heart monitoring spell to the one you cast on the room. It will alert you if his rate falls too low. If it happens more than 3 times in an hour or more than 10 times in the course of a day, or if he complains of dizziness or chest pain not associated with the wound, call me immediately!"

"The hospital allegedly wasn't too concerned about his heart when he was discharged," Remus said, looking rather worried.

"The problem was almost certainly due to how low his magical levels were in combination with the effects of the killing curse; as his levels are steadily rising, I don't anticipate a repeat. And, the heart muscle itself was undamaged and strong, but we can't be too careful," Ted warned.

"I understand and agree," Remus stated.

"Finally, his back. He has several fractured vertebrae, but there doesn't appear to be any spinal cord damage and the consultant presumably did not recommend a surgical treatment, which is very good news. The continued weakness and numbness is not ideal, but it is also not especially uncommon if swelling at the site of some of the injuries is causing compression. We will just have to keep an eye on it. Most likely, though I will confirm with Mr. Lam tomorrow, Harry will have to wear the brace until at least the end of August to keep everything stable and fairly immobile while the breaks heal, and then he will have a few weeks of physical therapy. In fact, I am going to start looking for someone this week to help on that front. Don't worry, Remus, he is young, fairly healthy, and his own magic will aid him to an untold degree once his core and reserves recover from the depletion. When I come back tomorrow, I'll give you some sheets on some small exercises he can start doing now and other important information to help him make a full recovery."

"Thank you very much, all of you."

With that, the Tonkses flooed back to their respective homes, and Remus took the tea things into the kitchen; he had much to think about.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewer: linuxrocs. Thank you so much for your regular and thoughtful comments. Also thanks to for the new kudos from Wodninka and IlJedui as well as Widninka’s new bookmark!


	12. Summer of Love - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 1998 - Harry spends the summer with Remus and company in Wales, bonding and healing. Ted learns more about Harry’s diagnoses, Remus has a weird transformation, Tonks introduces Harry to wizarding board games, and Ron and Hermione makes plans to reach Harry. This is 13K words for Part 2 (AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter take place in July 1998, immediately following 'Summer of Love - Part 1. There are only about 3 chapters remaining in this story before the sequel: Harry Potter and the Auror Academy: Year One. Hope you enjoy.

~~Previously..."With that, the Tonkses flooed back to their respective homes, and Remus took the tea things into the kitchen; he had much to think about..~~

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6 July 1998 - King Edward VII Hospital, London - 10:00am

Ted Tonks was on a mission. He had already made his promised visit to the cottage in Wales earlier that morning, showing Remus how Harry's brace should be worn and how to attach the various straps to achieve the appropriate fit, in addition to taking the oath the other wizard had demanded he swear to protect Harry. Now, clad in a muggle suit that he would never admit to his wife he'd had to let out in the waist to wear comfortably, he walked through to the reception area of London's foremost private hospital. He gave his name to the attendant, who naturally sported a waistcoat and tie. While he waited for the receptionist to inform Mr. Lam of his arrival, he spotted several things that were equally incongruous with the hospital setting. For example, behind the large Mahogany welcome desk was a handsome open fireplace and several stained glass windows. Indeed, most of the decor he had encountered thus far would be more suited to a private members' club than a hospital. "Sir, if you would please take a seat, Mr. Lam will be with you shortly."

"Thank you," Ted replied, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of the famous library where Prime Minister MacMillan had submitted his resignation to the Queen in the early 60's on the walk to the consultant's office.

Less than five minutes later, a short, dark-haired man wearing round horned-rim glasses and a red tie crossed the main reception area to where Ted was sitting, confirming he was the person the surgeon was slated to meet as he offered his hand in welcome, "Mr. Tonks?"

Already on his feet, dwarfing the other man, Ted nodded, shaking the proffered appendage firmly and greeting the consultant in return, "Mr. Lam."

"I must say, I am quite glad that you have reached out to me. Our mutual patient's hasty departure was a bit...unorthodox shall we say, and I confess to some curiosity and concern which I hope you can assuage. Please, follow me. My office is on the 3rd floor."

Ted was rather relieved when the spry consultant led him to a bank of lifts. He wasn't at all confident that he wouldn't have been embarrassingly out of breath by the time they arrived if he had been forced to take the stairs. He vowed to get more exercise for probably the 50th time that year.

In contrast to the lower levels, Mr. Lam's office was fairly standard issue, indistinguishable from the hundreds like it in NHS hospitals across the country. Ted noticed several files were stacked neatly in the middle of the otherwise clear desk. As they sat, the wizard attempted to set the desired tone for their conversation. "Mr. Lam, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. While everyone is exceptionally grateful for the wonderful care the Duke received from you and this hospital, as a long-time friend of the family, I was asked to take over His Grace's care once his condition stabilized. I know that it may seem as though he was moved somewhat precipitously, but it was done in the interest of security." Ted hoped his explanation would be sufficient to put James' and Lily's murders, which he was sure had made the muggle news given their station, at the forefront of the consultant's mind and lead him to draw his own conclusions from there.

"I see," replied the specialist. "Naturally, His Grace's safety and well-being are paramount to all of us."

"Indeed," Ted replied. "In that vein, I had some questions for you about the Duke's injuries and the treatment plan you recommended."

"Of course," replied Mr. Lam, before hesitating, "I would like to look you up in the GMC's register myself, if that's alright with you. May I see some identification?" Ted pulled out his driving license, and after a few clicks, the consultant handed the card back to him, apparently satisfied that Ted was precisely who he had claimed. "Thank you," the man said, gesturing for the wizard to speak, "Now, please, ask away."

Jumping right in, Ted explained, "I need copies of the Duke's files and scan results. I also wanted to talk about the TLSO and your prescription for wear, any cardiac concerns that remain, as well as the persistent numbness on His Grace's left side. Lastly, I was hoping to make some initial inquiries with you regarding physiotherapist candidates. Discretion will be key, of course."

"Of course," the consultant agreed with a decisive nod, proffering one of the file folders from the desk. "As you can see, there are no indications of any cord damage, but the continued numbness is cause for concern. It is likely related to swelling, but it makes me wonder if there is some nerve root damage we didn't see. Is there any way you can bring him back in for additional testing?"

"I am afraid that will not be possible at this time," the blonde concluded. "I have prescribed more anti-inflammatory medication which will hopefully resolve the issue."

The muggle nodded, before proceeding down Ted's list. "As for the brace, I believe it is in His Grace's best interest to wear it as much as possible, particularly in these first weeks following his injury."

"When he is sleeping as well?"

"He can wear it to bed, and if he regularly needs to get up in the night, I would recommend it. However, if he is more comfortable sleeping without it, and you have no reason to believe the lack of immobilization is harming him when laying flat in bed, then he can dispense with it at night."

"How long will he need to wear it, in your estimation?" The healer inquired.

"That depends on how quickly the bones heal. Certainly no less than six weeks, but it could be required for as long as 12. That is why it is imperative for His Grace to be examined and x-rayed at regular intervals. In fact, I really must insist that you bring him back here for evaluation in early August at the least; that's six weeks post-injury." The specialist was emphatic, and Ted felt he had no choice but to agree.

"I will make the arrangements, as you request, but for security reasons I would like to make that appointment directly with you and as close to the date of the visit as you can accommodate."

"Done," the black-haired man agreed. "Here is my card with my ex-directory home number on the back." He finished the last digit with a flourish and passed it to Ted.

Subtly transfiguring something suitable from his wallet, Ted gave Kai Lam his own contact information. It would ring through to an answering service, but as he could hardly tell the man it was easiest to reach him by floo or owl post, it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Smiling at the wizard, the consultant pocketed the card before continuing, "As for any cardiac concerns, His Grace presented with acute bradycardia shortly after his admission, and the issue persisted for approximately 24 hours. He was not under the influence of any drugs, there were no signs of damage to the heart precipitating the episode, and we couldn't identify any problems with his conduction pathways. His sinoatrial node was simply not functioning properly for no discernible reason. We placed him in one of our critical care beds with a temporary pacing wire until the problem resolved, which it did in about a day. We gave some consideration to the possibility that the wound on his chest, around which extensive bruising had developed, may have played some role, but that is inconclusive. Given how healthy his heart seemed from our testing, I would not anticipate a reoccurrence. Regardless, I would keep an eye on the situation. You may also want to consider a visit to a cardiologist within the next six months, just to ensure the episode didn't cause any lasting damage."

"I understand," Ted replied.

"As far as physio services, I know you said it wasn't feasible to bring His Grace here regularly, but we do have state-of-the-art physiotherapy and hydrotherapy facilities downstairs. I would be happy to arrange a tour for you."

"Thank you, but I am looking to engage a therapist for in-home services for a 3-6 week period, pending his needs."

"In that case, I will make some inquiries on your behalf and provide you some names for consideration by next week. How does that sound?" The consultant inquired.

"I can't thank you enough," Ted said as he stood with Harry's files and shook hands with the shorter physician. "I will be in touch."

"It has been my pleasure, and please pass my regards to His Grace."

"Certainly," Ted responded as he made his way for the door. "I look forward to your call." As Ted left the hospital and found a quiet alley from which to apparate in Marylebone, he knew he still had a busy day ahead of him.

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6 July 1998- Hiraeth House - Monmouthshire, Wales - 12:05pm

Remus and Harry were chatting while the older wizard fixed lunch in the kitchen. He had been regaling Harry with some light-hearted tales from his school days. "Have you ever wondered why Snape's nose looks the way it does?"

"I can't say that I have, since I generally try to avoid thinking about any part of Snape if I can help it...though I would have guessed unfortunate genetics before you piqued my interest by implying otherwise," Harry replied, as he took the cheese and tomato sandwich Remus offered him.

"Oh, there is no question that genetics played a role, but it wasn't quite as long as it is now until our fifth year. I know Sirius told you how our mutual hatred with Snape grew to unprecedented heights and viciousness that year, but I think this incident in the first month of school probably helped set the tone."

Harry was seated at the kitchen table in the high-backed Captain's chair Ted had adjusted for him the night before, stool once more at his feet. Remus was pleased to see that Harry looked relaxed and well-rested today with fewer lines of pain evident on his face than before. He was even eating a bit more, which made Remus consider making him another sandwich to take advantage of his appetite.

Taking in Harry's shining eyes and intent expression, the former professor felt incredibly guilty at how eagerly the 17-year-old soaked up any tidbit of information about his parents or Sirius; he should have been hearing these stories his whole life. He had been general careful to sensor what he shared, not mentioning Peter too often, trying not to show James or Sirius in too bad a light, though Harry seemed to have at least some knowledge of the Marauders' bullying tendencies, and he just as clearly did not approve.

He also tried to keep everything fairly clean, since Harry's naïveté about many worldly things had become increasingly obvious to him over the last few years. James had already been married by the time he took up the Lordship, which had lessened the impact of some of the heaviest concentration of Family magic influence. Still, Remus had certainly observed some of its sway on his friend as the Heir in their youth. Sirius had in fact teased Prongs mercilessly about his virginity in their final year, though it hadn't seemed to distress him much. This meant he would need to adjust this story slightly, because Padfoot had always been a bit of a dog, even before he could transform into one.

"Sirius had this idea about casting a modified Pinocchio spell on Snape. It would make his nose grow every time he...uh...lied."

"What does the unmodified version do then?" Harry asked innocently.

"The modification to this spell was in its delivery," Remus answered, which was true, of course, but Sirius had also modified the trigger. "He wanted it look look like a disarming charm so he could cast it without suspicion during a confrontation we planned to stage in the hall. No one would attempt to reverse or seek treatment for an expelliarmus, especially one that looked like it had failed. He was able to get the spell to pull on the victim's wand a bit, but never produce the desired results and fully mimic the effects of the disarming charm at the same time. It was still an impressive piece of spell-craft for a 15-year-old."

"I wish I had studied more Runes and Arithmancy in school. I would love to do more spell creation," Harry said wistfully.

"Nothing is stopping you cub, I have a strong foundation in both, and we have access to tons of books on those subjects and others."

Nodding, Harry asked "So what happened to Snape?"

"Well, everything went exactly to plan on delivery, and Snape was none the wiser, which gave the spell time to take root. Also, the effects were subtle but cumulative, so even given that Snape was a teenage boy and therefore almost certainly...Er...lying...constantly, it took a few days for him to realize there was an issue. By the time he finally went to Madam Pomfrey, Regulus told us his nose was almost as long as a ruler. And, even after the matron reversed Sirius' spell work, I swear Snape's nose has always been a bit longer than it was originally."

Harry smiled at their antics, but he did admonish Remus a little, "That was a bit mean, wasn't it? But, I suppose if he was anything like he is now as a teenager, he probably kind of deserved it. Plus, no one was making him lie, right?"

"Um...exactly. So, do you want anything else to eat? There's more cheese or some berries?"

"I am pretty full," replied the green-eyed wizard.

"Then let's get you out of the chair, because I want you to be comfortable while I tell you about the time in fourth year that the Marauders, like Icarus, flew too close to the sun."

"This I can't wait to hear," Harry said, chuckling.

Once Remus had settled his charge onto the sofa, he sat in the armchair next to him and began. "You have to understand that your father knew many of the school's secrets in his first year, and he was already sneaking off to the kitchens by probably his first week. I never did learn whether it was Charlus or Dorea who was the unrepentant trouble-maker, but either way, James came to school armed with information and quite dangerous. As the four of us in the Gryffindor boys' dorm became friends, James shared a few of his secrets. Pretty soon, we started visiting the house elves, nicking food, and generally wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting. By half-term, we were plotting our first prank. Over the years, we had used our relationship with the Hogwarts' kitchen elves to unleash all kinds of torment on the other houses as well as our own, asking them to slip pretty harmless potions into the food and drinks before they was served."

"I think I know where this is going, but please continue," urged Harry, grinning.

"One week in the middle of fourth year, your father became obsessed with pranking the teachers at the staff table. He was especially interested in targeting the annoying git Dumbledore had teaching Defense that year. We planned and planned, developing a flavorless potion that would cause the drinker to sing rhyming lyrics for everything they thought or tried to say. We thought it would be hilarious if all the teachers had to instruct us the next day in musical couplets, and classes might even end of canceled; so win-win really, in our minds. Naturally, we went to our primary allies for food and beverage contamination; the elves agreed, and we believed the trap would be sprung at breakfast the following morning. What we hadn't counted on was Mippy."

"Who's Mippy?"

"Mippy was the head elf in the Hogwarts kitchens when we were in school. When she got wind of what we were trying to do to the professors and learned how we had been using her subordinates to sow chaos for years, she decided to extract a little revenge. She had the elves give the pranked goblets to us! I sang and rhymed about everything from Arithmancy equations, to the girls I fancied, to my bowl movements...loudly and with feeling...for a week! We all did. It was very memorable, to say the least. But, did we learn our lesson?"

"Oh no...what did you do next?" asked Harry, chuckling.

"Well, we...and by we, I mean Sirius and James, foolishly assumed that Mippy had only turned the tables on us because we had targeted the staff. After all, we had successfully convinced the elves to help us prank the members of other houses loads of times. So, less than a month after the 'Rodgers and Hammerstein' incident, we decided to prank the Slytherins with a very thorough hair removal potion. It made all our hair fall out, and I do mean all. I suspect I would have been a completely bald werewolf if I had transformed right after that. Madam Pomfrey was able to help us, though she kept laughing about how much we all looked like plucked chickens. Even still, it took Peter's eyebrows months to grow back in. He looked perpetually surprised until after Yule."

Trying not to laugh too much, because it was a bit painful, Harry couldn't help himself. He could perfectly picture the results of 'Mippy's revenge.' "That is too funny. One of my classmates, Seamus, was always burning off his eyebrows in explosions caused by increasingly elaborate and desperate attempts to turn water into rum, so I know what you mean about the look of surprise. So what did you do? Did you stop pranking people's food?"

"Harry, Harry...a Marauder never quits, we just had to get more creative and devious. Obviously, House elves were out, and we quickly learned that Mcgonagall had placed wickedly difficult to bypass proximity alerts on the Great Hall outside meal times. We only ran afoul of those once, and it was not an experience I cared to repeat. At first, Sirius wanted to recruit Peeves to be a 5th Marauder, but in the end we just got very good at dividing pranks into stages as well as subtle casting and slight of hand, so we could pull off what we needed to do in front of everyone while we were all permitted in the Hall. And, well, I am pretty sure that being able to spend time with me during my monthly trials wasn't the only reason they worked so hard to become animagi," Remus concluded smirking. He was about to ask Harry for a story in return, when he noticed the teen was drifting off. He had been awake since early this morning, so a nap was probably a good idea. To be honest, Remus wouldn't mind a quick kip himself.

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6 July 1998- Hiraeth House - Monmouthshire, Wales - 7:20pm

Remus was casting a few cleaning charms around the kitchen area following dinner. Harry had already gone to bed for the night despite the early hour, as he still got tired easily and showering had taken a lot out of him, no matter how much he had welcomed the activity. Harry had been so exhausted by the time they sat down for their meal that he had barely eaten anything. Remus intended to make sure his cub ate well in the morning to make up for it, though he remained frustrated by Harry's refusal to tell him about favorite foods or general culinary preferences or dislikes.

Taking advantage of the burst of energy he often experienced at this stage in the lunar cycle, just before the weariness started creeping up on him as the hours before moonrise ticked away, he tidied up the sitting room and reading area. He was just considering using a shampooing spell on his rugs when a silver house cat appeared before him. "Remus, this is Ted. Sorry this is so late, but I was hoping to speak with you this evening. Will it be okay to floo?"

Being rather keen to talk to Ted as well, and curious about what the healer might want to tell him after his visit with the muggle physician, Remus adjusted the wards temporarily and sent his reply.

A few minutes later Tonks' father stepped out of his fireplace, announcing, "Thank you for seeing me. I come bearing gifts."

"Have a seat, would you like some tea or something stronger?" Remus inquired.

"Why not both?" The large blonde man suggested.

Grinning, Remus replied, "One hot toddy, or should that be hot teddy? coming up." He mixed whisky in with the tea he'd prepared, adding a bit of honey and a spritz of lemon before serving his guest and himself.

Savoring the steaming cup, Ted breathed in deeply and sighed, "This is exactly what I needed. Thank you."

The two sipped in silence for a minute before Ted said, "Oh, here, before I forget...I got Harry a walking frame to use." He pulled a small silver item out of his pocket and set it on the floor before enlarging it. It had four legs connecting to a single hand bar, and the two legs in the front had small wheels. "This should let him get around more easily and independently for the time being."

Seeing the look on Remus' face, he was quick to reassure him. "Don't worry, he won't need to use it for long. He'll almost certainly be down to crutches or even a single walking stick by his birthday. And, really, if his left leg stops giving him fits, maybe he won't need to use any walking aid at all by then. We'll have to see. But for now, this should help with balance and mobility. Let him move around as much as he is able to inside the house, for now, but make sure he wears the brace."

"I let him take it off tonight when he showered, is that okay?"

"I think so, though other doctors might tell you differently. Did you use a chair in the shower and major sticking charms on the legs?" Ted asked, concerned.

"Yes, I was especially glad to have done so, since the hot water seemed to make him feel dizzy. Also, his chest and back are horribly bruised. I hadn't realized the extent until I saw him in a towel; it looks very painful."

"I'm sure it is, but it will heal, don't worry," soothed Ted. "We will need to adjust the height on the frame for him so he doesn't hurt himself using it. He needs to be as upright and aligned as possible. I'll come over again in the morning to do that and to help with the brace on my way into the office."

"I really appreciate your help, Ted. All of your help." Remus hesitated, "I was hoping to ask for another favor, though, if I could."

"Of course," replied Ted.

"The full moon this month is on the 9th, which is just 3 days away. I was wondering if Harry could stay with you and Andromeda overnight on the 8th and 9th, or at least the 9th, so no one is here when I transform and so he isn't alone on those evenings."

Being a healer, Ted had a better idea than most how hard lycanthropy was on the body. "We would love to take him. Dora will be happy to come over to the house and hang out too. With four people, we can play a few of her favorite board games...the fact that there were only three of us was a sore subject at times in her childhood, I tell you."

Remus was relieved, "I can't thank you enough."

"Pish, Remus, that's what friends are for," the large wizard stated in a tone that brokered no arguments as he leaned back in his chair to drink from his mug. "I assume Harry is sleeping now?"

"Yeah, he was completely knackered."

"It's because all of his energy is going toward healing his injuries and rebuilding his magical core and reserves. It will likely still take him a while to be back to normal on that front. Healing is exhausting work for your body, as you well know. I would like to check his core again tomorrow when I am here."

Finishing his tea, Ted conjured a coaster to put under his mug as he set the empty dish on the low table in front of him. "What else did I want to tell you tonight...right. Mr. Lam, the consultant who treated Harry in London, wants to do another set of xrays and scans in about a month to see how his bones are healing. I agreed, because the man is an expert on these types of injuries and bracing treatments."

"Okay," Remus nodded, that made sense.

"He also told me we should continue to monitor Harry's heart rates, of course, but that he did not believe there was any underlying condition or damage to the heart that we needed to be concerned about, despite the acute episode. I asked him about physical therapists, as well. It's too soon for anything beyond those really minor exercises I gave you the parchment about this morning, like rolling ankles and the like, but once the fractures heal, Harry is going to need to do physiotherapy for several weeks to help him regain strength in his muscles and avoid future injuries. I think it would be prudent to hire someone to come to him. Talk it over with him so you can decide what qualities and qualifications you are looking for. Mr. Lam will be providing me with the names of a few candidates, and I will put out some feelers in the magical community. It isn't the most common discipline in the wizarding world, but it does exist."

"Right off I can tell you that I think the therapist should be a male. Harry is really shy, and he may be uncomfortable having anyone he doesn't know touch him, and that would potentially be exacerbated by the person being a woman. And, I don't know how familiar you are with various family magic protocols, but Harry's is quite vested in protecting his virtue until marriage. I don't even know what might happen if a strange woman were to touch him in any way that could be construed as intimate. I know it sounds ludicrous, but as the last of his line, it is all focused on him, and it can be intense. James and Lily married immediately after graduation, and James was only the heir at the time."

"Oh, I didn't realize...that's good to know. I may chat to Andromeda about that, it sounds rather fascinating. What about the Black Family magic?"

"I think it is more concerned with advancing the position of the House, securing the family legacy, and drawing him to others in the embrace of the family magic. I think it forces quite paternal feelings on him towards other members of his House, but your wife and Harry will certainly know more," Remus reasoned.

"That reminds me, Andi gave me these books for Harry to read. They seem to relate to etiquette, wizarding nobility, and the Wizengamot and such like. Trust me, she will quiz him extensively, and woe betide him if she catches him using the wrong fork!" Ted joked.

"That's very kind of her. Harry was recently asking me about just this type of thing, and it occurred to me that, having had a rather traditionalist upbringing, she is likely an excellent person for him to ask some of his questions, only if she is willing, obviously." Remus seemed concerned that perhaps all those pure-blood traditions were a sore subject for her since she had spent nearly entirely her adult life disowned by her family.

Correctly reading Remus' reticence, Ted explained, "Even if it were an issue for her, which I assure you, it is not; she would never deny her family patriarch such a simple thing. Especially since this particular Head of House is responsible for bringing her and our family back into the fold and the embrace of the family's magic."

"Well, I know he will be grateful for her guidance and assistance all the same."

"I better get going before Andi calls the Aurors to report me missing," Ted stated, "but I'll see you in the morning around 7:30?"

"I'll have the floo ready for you at that time," Remus confirmed.

"I'll probably message you to make sure, just to be safe," Ted reported as he got up from the plush chair. "Thank you for the drink, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," responded Remus, standing and seeing his guest to the fireplace. The two men shook hands just before Ted threw in the powder, called his address, and jumped through the green flames.

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8 July 1998 - Tonks Residence - Basingstoke, Hampshire - 6:30pm

Looking tired and a bit ill, Remus had carefully apparated Harry to Ted and Andromeda's house in Hampshire. It was taxing for him this close to the full moon, but he and Ted had agreed that landing after a floo trip of such a distance wouldn't be possible for Harry to do safely at this stage of his recovery. Remus, however, had every intention of using their fireplace to get back to the cottage.

The plan was for Harry to stay with the Tonks family overnight Wednesday and Thursday and for Remus to take him back to Wales at some point on the 10th, depending on how his transformation went.

Remus was adamant about not having anyone at the house with him while he was a beast, even though he would be locked securely in a cage in a heavily spelled and highly fortified room in the cellar. He was especially concerned this month, as he had felt different since the battle of Hogsmeade. He had been hit by several unidentified spells that day, which had left him unconscious and then weak for days. Receiving only minimal medical care due to his affliction, by the time he had regained enough strength to be aware of what was going on, days had passed. Already well behind the curve, he had started seeking Harry with a vengeance. He had naturally been distracted by finding, rescuing, and caring for his godson and thus hadn't fully realized the extent of this deviation from his norm until past the first quarter and well into the waxing gibbous phase of the moon. He had no idea how it would all impact his change, but he was preparing for the worst.

"Goodnight, Harry," Remus said, reluctant to leave the teen even though he trusted the Tonkses implicitly. Harry was similarly hesitant about Remus' departure but remained committed to concealing that as best he could so as to not offend Dora's family or cause the older wizard any additional angst. "I know it is only a couple of days, but I will miss you terribly."

"I will miss you too, Remus," Harry revealed, softly. "Please take care of yourself." Unable to stop himself, the werewolf leaned in to embrace the messy-haired wizard as gently as possible, feeling the hard shell of the brace under his loose clothing.

"Off you go, Remus!" Dora shooed her love interest toward the floo. "I have a bunch of fun things planned for tonight, and you, my friend, are impeding progress. Go home, get some rest, and we'll see you again on Friday." To her delighted surprise, Remus reached out to give her a hug, too! It was a highly unexpected gesture as he was always so apprehensive about touching her, which she didn't really understand since she remembered how physically demonstrative he had always been with the various members of the Order with whom he was friendly. The man was certainly an enigma. Finally, after shaking hands with her mother and father, he jumped through the green flames, and her parents returned to the kitchen to work on dinner.

Perched rigidly on an elaborate wooden chair that her father had liberated from the basement storage area, Harry looked a bit lost. Tonks screwed up her face in concentration and changed her hair from bright pink to a rather violent shade of purple. "Wotcher, Harry!" She called, obviously startling him from his reverie. "What do you think?" She asked, modeling the new look. "Is it me?"

"Er...it looks nice, like always," he replied politely.

"Aren't you a sweetheart," she cooed. "What about now?" she inquired, innocently, shrinking her nose to something that looked like a button mushroom. He opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to find the right words. "Is this better, then?" She proceeded to sprout a great deal of hair from each nostril.

"I don't think..." he began, haltingly.

"You don't like it?" She pouted, "What about now?" The next thing he knew, she had morphed her nose into something like a pig snout, which gave Harry the fleeting impression that a female Dudley was grinning at him from across the table.

He felt laughter bubbling up from his chest, which he belatedly realized was probably the point. When she swelled her nose into a beak-like protuberance that put him in the mind of Snape and said in a remarkable mimicry given the difference in gender, "Potter, that will be five points from Gryffindor for breathing too loudly," he lost it.

"Tonks!" he cried breathlessly, still cracking up. "Please, it hurts to laugh."

She immediately shifted back to her normal features and knelt beside his chair, though her hair turned a brown color he had never seen on her before. She looked stricken, "Harry, I'm sorry ...I didn't think. Should I get my dad?"

"No, no...it's fine. Really," he assured her, smiling. "You do a very good impression of Snape."

"Well, I have had his particular blend of menacing and pissy scorn directed at me quite a bit," she revealed, noticing with concern that Harry's right hand maintained a white-knuckled grip on the arm of the chair, while the left arm was clutched protectively around his middle.

Following her gaze, he forced himself to relax his arms and asked, "Did Remus ever tell you about a prank they played on Snape in school that might be slightly responsible for the shape of his nose?"

"Oh...do tell, Harry," she demanded, conjuring a pillow to sit on and rubbing her hands together gleefully.

"What they did is pretty mean," he prefaced, "especially when you consider that many of their interactions had to be four against one...but I have to think, based on his winning personality today, that not all of their actions against him were unprovoked. Still," he felt compelled to tell her, "Remus didn't seem to be party to most of the things they did to him, and I am positive, as an adult, he would never condone what they did. In fact, I know that Remus has actually apologized for their behavior towards him when they were younger...though I don't think Sirius felt the same remorse."

"Harry, I find Snape to be one of the cruelest, most miserable bastards on the planet, and as a law enforcement officer, I am personally offended that he was never punished for his crimes as a Death Eater...and that he was permitted to teach children in a school. We are talking about someone who willingly joined and participated in the activities of a terrorist group known for raping, torturing, and murdering innocent people, including kids. There is literally nothing you could tell me that I wouldn't think he deserved 10 times over," she finished with an uncharacteristically hard look in her dark eyes.

Somewhat taken aback by her vehemence, he proffered, "He was only a kid himself, and my father and Sirius did seem to single him out for their pranks."

"You are a really sweet person, Harry," she told him, ruffling his hair...and wouldn't her mother be appalled at her familiarity with their paterfamilias. "Don't ever change. Now, enough teasing, I want to hear this story!"

As Harry finished the tale, she couldn't help but think perhaps Remus had only given him an edited version, though she couldn't begin to imagine why. Harry was nearly 18, for Merlin's sake, and had just helped end a war. He was not a child anymore by any measure. Still, some of the things he had told her didn't quite add up, and, being quite familiar with the House of Black's flare for revenge, she suspected there was more...humiliation to the whole affair. She would definitely be asking Remus about it later.

"Dinner's ready!" Her mother called, though Dora secretly hoped her father had done most of the cooking. Her mother tried, but her domestic strengths, of which there were many, most definitely lay elsewhere. Her father came to the living room to help Harry out of the chair. Dora stood as well, prepared to grab him if he stumbled. However, both were pleased to note that the green-eyed wizard managed to get to his feet and use the walking frame to make his way across the room without issue.

The house was already pretty open as a result of Dora's clumsiness, but Ted had made sure before Harry arrived that there was ample space for him to navigate without getting caught on anything. As they walked slowly along beside the teen, Dora noticed for the first time that Harry was shorter than she was. Before she could contemplate that further, they reached the dining room. Dora was shocked to see the table set as if for a formal dinner party. Bloody Hell...what was her mother up to? She saw her dad smirking at them both and stuck her tongue out at him, after confirming her mother's back was to them, of course.

Turning around, Andromeda curtsied briefly before speaking, "My Lord," she began, "I do hope you managed to read some of the books I sent to you, because I thought dinner would be an excellent way to put some of those lessons into practice and test you on what you'd learned."

Harry blanched, and Dora looked as if someone had canceled Yule. Suddenly, her mother started cackling, "Merlin, you should see your faces! I do want to go over some dining etiquette, but I promise, there is no pressure. It is easiest to learn this by doing."

Dora still looked rebellious, but Harry had relaxed slightly. "Mrs. Tonks," Harry said, "thank you very much for everything. I really do wish you would call me Harry, though."

Andromeda looked thoughtful, "I can certainly try when it is just the three of us...but then you must call me Andi." He smiled at her as he laid his napkin on his lap.

It turned out that despite Harry's appalling upbringing, his table manners were perfectly respectable. Harry attributed this to the fact that the Dursleys felt a nearly compulsive need to put on airs. Between their dinner parties and the requirements levied by Smeltings, they had been forced to go over proper table etiquette repeatedly because Dudley was just that thick. Harry was bound to pick up something. He did note there were a few minor differences. In the wizarding world, for example, water and wine glasses were stationed on one's left, which he suspected had something to do with wand usage. Dora, in contrast, had to keep being reminded not to put her elbow on the table.

When their lovely four-course meal was through, and Andromeda was satisfied that her Head of House was unlikely to shame them in a formal dining setting, they returned to the living room. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have offered to help clear the table, but as he was in no condition to assist with the clean-up, with or without magic, he settled for offering his compliments and thanks for the meal. He had a feeling that even if he had been able, Andromeda would have refused his aid, with prejudice, and perhaps even taken some kind of offense.

Harry was, if he was being truthful with himself, more than ready to retire for the night. He was exhausted and in pain; even the thought of sitting down again and then being forced to get back up after he had managed to get upright following the extended meal made him cringe. However, he knew Dora was very committed to some kind of game night, and he was loathe to disappoint her. Wanting to remain on his feet for as long as possible, Harry wandered over to a shelf where he could see a number of puzzles and games stored.

He raised his eyebrows at the variety of magical items after a quick glance through the collection. Many appeared to be educational in nature: Cauldron Quest seemed to be designed to improve younger wizards' knowledge of potions and their ingredients, while Snap Spells looked like a beginners' spell crafting game. He was rather interested in that one, even if he was fairly certain he well past the age of its target audience. The staples of magical game play were also well-represented on the shelves, with a wizarding chess set, several decks of exploding snap cards, and gobstones in pride of place. Harry spotted a model quidditch stadium which was likely animated, numerous puzzles that appeared to either bring the object depicted to life or transport a person into the picture once it was completed, and a bunch of magical versions of games he believed were commonly played in the muggle world. For example, there was Spellbound, which was like Scrabble; Clue set at Hogwarts; something called Magical Survival that reminded him a bit of a muggle children's' game about Ants or Engineering or something; and N.E.W.T Pursuit, which was a trivia game only with categories like Magical Games and Sports and Famous Witches and Wizards Through the Ages.

He was curious what Tonks had in mind for them and was rather fascinated by it all, but he felt like it might be better to do it on another day. Thankfully, as Dora starting pulling out different options, her father stepped in. "Honey, it is already almost 9:00pm, and that's practically past the bedtime of us old folk." She understood what he was saying, though Harry thought he heard her grumble under her breath a bit about how they might have had time if their dinner hadn't taken so long.

"You're right, dad, and I am actually a bit knackered myself. Savage has had me interviewing and investigating the minor crimes that have been committed in the shopping district basically by myself this last week while they deal with the fallout from Hogsmeade."

Harry looked up from his perusal at the mention of Auror Dylan Savage. "Is he okay? I saw him take a piercing hex during the battle when he saved those kids."

Nymphadora looked surprised at Harry's knowledge. "It didn't hit anything vital, so they were able to sort him pretty quickly." She smiled slyly before adding, "Nothing like what happened after you drove his team away during your entrance exams, or so I hear."

Clearly ashamed, which Tonks had not expected, Harry offered feebly, "I really didn't mean... I thought he was a Death Eater who had just killed an Auror."

At a loss for how to handle the situation she had inadvertently created, she looked helplessly to her parents for guidance. Her mother gave her an exasperated look, not unlike the one she had received last week after tripping on one of the two delicate, antique tables in the sitting room and knocking over the aspidistra plant her mother had been painstakingly cultivating over the last year. Also, just like with the plant, her mother managed to salvage everything. "I think we can all agree that if you dress up like a Death Eater, you are asking for whatever happens to you. Honestly, what were they thinking?"

Harry looked relieved that no one seemed to be recriminating him for his actions, and Dora's father took advantage of the lull to announce that they all needed to call it a night.

***************************

9 July 1998 - Tonks Residence - Basingstoke, Hampshire - 4:00pm

It was still hours before the moonrise tonight, so Harry hoped Remus was getting some much-needed rest while he could. As someone who had more than a passing familiarity with what it felt like to have something terrible hanging over their head and being powerless to stop its approach, he was very sympathetic about what the waiting must be like for the werewolf. Harry was in awe of the strength it must take to deal with that every 28 days and not let it become all-consuming. He suspected Dora shared his regard for Remus' fortitude given how much she obviously liked him.

The youngest member of the Tonks family had worked from home today, finishing reports and filing other paperwork. Ted had gone to his practice in town for a short day, seeing a few patients he had rescheduled over the last week. Andromeda had busied herself around the house and quizzed Harry on some of the finer points of the politics of the various noble families. He had a lot to learn if he was ever going to form the requisite alliances to drive any kind of reform agenda in the Wizengamot. She also gave Harry several books to read in addition to the ones she had sent with Ted previously. He couldn't help but think he needed a law degree to understand half of what was written in their pages and had thus been carefully recording his questions in a notebook. Sometimes later passages clarified points of confusion for him, but he knew he would need to ask Andromeda or Hermione about several things to make further headway, just not today.

Speaking of Hermione, he was so glad to have been able to send off his letters to her and Ron. They must have been worried sick by now with no word from him. He hadn't believed it when he had seen Hedwig outside his window the previous evening. He had been unable to let her in last night but had made it a point to ask Ted if he minded letting a little fresh air in the room this morning. Thankfully, the jovial healer acquiesced to his request and opened the window. Clever Hedwig had waited until Harry had returned to the room after lunch before flying through to him. He had never been so relieved to see her. She was a bit annoyed with him, clearly fretful about being unable to visit him in the muggle hospital and unable to find him while he was behind the wards at Remus' cottage. He had stroked her feathers, apologizing and reassuring her that he was alright before asking if she was willing to take some letters for him. As a post owl, she of course loved nothing more than delivering mail. It hadn't been very easy for him to retrieve the many pages of parchment from his overnight bag, but he had eventually managed. Hours after she arrived, he tied the thick packet to her leg and sent her off to his friends. He was fairly certain that Remus would not approve of his actions, but Harry didn't regret them as he watched his beloved pet fly off in the distance from the window.

Once Ted returned home, Dora packed her casework away before eagerly setting up a game board for them at the dining room table. "I can't wait!" The pink-haired witch exclaimed in genuine excitement. "I haven't been able to convince anyone to play a game of 'It's a Magical Life' with me in ages.

When Ted heard exactly what game his daughter had selected, he groaned. "Dora, honey, can't you pick one of the others? This one takes forever to finish."

"Dad, we have hours before dinner, and I think Harry will really like it. Plus, you promised we could play whatever game I picked."

"So, this is for Harry's benefit, is it?" The blonde wizard stated, shooting his only child a knowing glance.

"Of course!" She replied, defensively. "But, I am sure the rest of us will have fun, too."

Sighing, he admitted defeat. He had promised. "Alright, you finish setting up, and I'll get Harry. If he's resting, though, you're going to have to wait." Dora nodded easily as she counted out money and laid out pieces, tapping some with her wand as she hummed to herself.

Ted walked down the hall, peeking his head into the room Harry was staying in. Andi said he'd gone to read and take a nap after insisting on helping her prepare lunch, so Ted was surprised to find the teen out of bed, using the frame to balance as he looked out the window. Not turning away from his bird watching, Harry spoke, clearly sensing the other wizard's presence. "I needed to walk around a bit," he explained.

"I understand," Ted replied. "Dora's setting up a game for us in the other room, if you are interested."

Pleased to see that rather than attempting to twisting to look at Ted, which likely wouldn't have been possible in the brace anyway, Harry made his way around the bed until they were facing each other. "Lead the way, I know she has been looking forward to introducing me to some of her favorite childhood games."

Ted chuckled, "I don't think she stopped enjoying them when she reached adulthood, but she can rarely get anyone to play with her. Also, I must warn you that Andi and Dora are highly competitive."

Harry smiled, "I'll keep that in mind. What game did she pick?" he asked curiously.

"It's like the muggle game of Life. I think it's officially called, 'It's a Magical Life.' At Harry's slightly surprised look, Ted snorted. "Terribly original, I know."

As the pair made their way to the dining room, Harry said, "There did seem to be quite a few options; I never knew that wizards had so many different games. The Weasleys never had most of the ones I saw on your shelves, at least to my knowledge, and no one at Hogwarts ever brought anything out to play except Exploding Snap, Chess, or Gobstones."

"Well, I think most of what we have caters to mixed households like ours."

At Harry's confused look, Ted clarified, "Those with at least one Muggleborn and one magically raised person. They offer all the variety and nostalgia of childhood for those raised in the Mundane world and are decked out with the magical features expected by those who have always lived as wizards and witches."

"I see," Harry replied thoughtfully, "I suppose two muggleborns would be just as happy with the original versions."

"Exactly," Ted agreed. "Plus, the production of these games is a bit of a cottage industry. One of my old Hufflepuff classmates started producing cross-over games in the '70's, and he used to use Andromeda and I as beta-testers. I've always had a bit of an inside connection."

"That's really neat."

"Indeed. Shall we?" Ted asked, gesturing for the dark-haired wizard to go through to the table ahead of him. He wanted to be in a position to catch Harry if he had trouble getting the walker over the transition strip between the rooms. It hadn't been a problem so far, but Ted didn't want to risk a fall.

After they were all seated, Andromeda wore an indulgent smile as she observed her daughter's glee. Dora announced they would begin and gave each of them a 1000 galleon note and five 200 galleon notes to start the game. Everyone selected a broom of a different make; Harry picked an older Nimbus model for his token, while Dora took a Cleansweep. She then handed each of them a small, gender-specific figure wearing a miniature hat and robes to mount on their brooms. Before they spun the wheel to see who would go first, Andromeda touched her wand to the money, activating what Harry assumed was some kind of spell to manage the banking element of the game.

Dora crowed when she spun a 9 on the colorful wheel; she would be going first. Spinning a 7 for her turn, Dora opted to take the long route around the game board's initial loop labeled, 'N.E.W.T.s and Mastery.' The space she landed on read: 'Lose a bet on the outcome of the Quidditch World Cup finals, pay the Goblins 400 galleons.' Andromeda went next, surprising the others by taking the shorter 'Hogwarts Graduate,' route. Her spin of 5 landed her on, 'Win 2500 Galleons in the Daily Prophet prize drawing.' Harry and Ted both opted to take the longer mastery route, where Ted fittingly became a Healer and Harry eventually became a Potions Master, much to everyone's amusement. Dora's career in the game was a Professor.

Spin after spin, they all worked their way across the board, racking up life changing events such as marriage and children. Dora had so many kids that she was forced to trade in her Cleansweep for a magic carpet by the end, something her parents teased her about rather mercilessly. The four of them also suffered tragedy and good fortune in equal measure as their brooms (and carpet) flew over the winding path of the game. Harry was awarded 100,000 Galleons by Gringotts for uncovering a Founders' relic. Dora was forced to pay 4000 Galleons to unload a Skrewt Farm left to her by an Uncle before going on to win 60,000 Galleons betting on Abraxan races. Ted had to pay 500 Galleons to bail a relative out of Azkaban, which made both Harry and Andromeda pale slightly. Andromeda willingly spent 20,000 Galleons to sponsor an expedition to some Egyptian Tombs but later won the money back through the success of a magical invention.

The flying pieces and immediate appearance or disappearance of money, depending on the fate decreed by the square, definitely gave the game a magical feel, but to Harry the most impressive part was the enchantments built into the game which projected an image based on the square. Like when Harry had shelled out 20,000 Galleons for a Firebolt, a replica of the broom had flown around the players before fading away. Similarly, when Ted had been forced to go back to the starting space due to the destruction caused by a Potions experiment gone awry, the explosion that accompanied the move actually shook the table. It had in fact so startled Harry that Ted had almost called the game off, but the teen had recovered quickly and so play had resumed.

As they approached the finish line, Dora had by far the most money following a string of lucky breaks related to a successful business venture. Andromeda was right on her heels. Ted had the least money. And Harry, while in a distant third in terms of liquid assets, had reached the 'Day of Reckoning' square first due to his consistently high spins. Since he knew he didn't have enough money to successfully mount a challenge to either witches' accumulated wealth, Harry had nothing to lose and everything to potentially gain by entering into a highly risky (but also incredibly lucrative) arrangement with the Goblins. So, at the end, he bet all of his money on a single spin, and shockingly, he was successful. Thus, he was awarded the title, 'Tycoon Millionaire,' and declared the winner of their game. The others congratulated him on his victory, though he thought Dora might have been a slightly disappointed at the outcome.

For his part, Harry had found the whole thing rather fun, win or lose, and was definitely looking forward to playing other games with them in the future. He thought Remus might enjoy it, too, and planned to mention as much to Tonks at a later time. Harry and Dora put the game away, clearing the table for supper, as Ted and Andromeda quickly pulled together a light meal. As they ate and the others chatted about their respective days and current events, Harry listened and smiled even as he worried about his remaining godfather. He really was lucky to have such good friends.

***************************

10 July 1998- Hiraeth House - Monmouthshire, Wales - 7:30am

Knowing it was still too early to floo to the Tonks residence and not wanting to wake Harry if he were sleeping besides, Remus paced around the cottage casting a variety of cleaning charms. The fact that he had the energy to do what he was currently doing, even though the moon had only set a little over an hour ago, should have been impossible. In every other month of his life for nearly as long as he could remember, he would still be passed out, naked, wherever he had holed up for his transformation at this point; a bloody, battered, and if he were lucky, still unconscious, mess. Today, however, he felt unbelievable. His transformation had been, dare he say it...easy; as instantaneous and painless as he imagined an animagus' shift to be. He knew that this morning, unlike most days following a full moon, he had no random scratches or bites, strained muscles, or broken bones.

Even more miraculously, however, was that he had kept his human mind yesterday evening, despite the fact that he had not taken any wolfsbane potion. The wolf had been there, of course, but it had not taken over...it hadn't even tried. He couldn't fathom what might have caused the variance, but he was hoping Ted would help him get to the bottom of it, or at least recommend someone who could.

He had been too preoccupied with Harry to take much note to the differences leading up to the 9th, and some probably weren't as obvious as they might eventually be given his relatively extreme emotional state for most of that period. The wolf was always more influential when Remus' feelings, negative or positive, were running high; and the last several weeks had been quite a roller coaster. From hearing rumors that Harry had been hit by a killing curse, not being able to find him in the aftermath of Hogsmeade and fearing the worst, to learning from Severus Snape what Dumbledore intended for his godson- putting the final nails in the coffin of a relationship that had been fraying since before Sirius' death- it had been one of the most emotionally tumultuous periods of his life to date. Remus still felt some gratitude toward the headmaster for what he had done for him as a child, but he would no longer do whatever the man asked of him without question. He considered whatever debt that had existed between himself and Dumbledore more than paid, and it was liberating. He wondered idly if Severus would ever feel the same.

Remus vowed to record his new lycanthropic experiences in a journal from now on. He wasn't naive enough to think himself cured, but something had definitely changed. With a lightness in his heart, body, and mind that he had never before felt after a transformation, Remus decided it was finally late enough to at least check in with Ted and Andromeda about bringing Harry home. He missed his cub.

***************************

12 July 1998 - The Burrow- Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon - 11:25am

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley sat together in the tall, crooked shadow of the Burrow under a tree in Ron's backyard. Both of them were incredibly worried about their friend, though they had been assured by Ron's mum that Harry had not been killed in the confrontation with Voldemort, despite how it may have appeared at the time. As she refused to reveal her source or any additional information, the teens could only imagine the worst. Further, Hermione had convinced Ron it wasn't safe to conduct their own investigation into Harry's whereabouts lest they inadvertently expose him to even greater danger when he was likely in no position to defend himself. As the days continued to pass with no word, however, she was starting to regret her decision. They had tried to write to him, but all their owls had returned unopened so far. Even as excellent of a distraction as her first week of work at the Ministry had been, she was through waiting for answers.

Then, as if magic itself had responded to her plea, Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, had dropped a thick packet of parchment between them on the ground. Immediately recognizing the spidery scrawl, she couldn't believe it. The letter was from Harry! There were pages and pages of tight script which started off so shaky as to be almost illegible, slowly transitioning on the parchment into the handwriting with which they were more familiar. There was only one copy of the magnum opus, but their friend clearly intended for the two of them to read it together. Some of the early writing was not only difficult to read, but didn't make a lot of sense. These notes were fragmented, at times in pencil and muggle pen vice a quill, which could have been indicative of his location in those early days or due to his physical inability to write with the trickier implement.

Harry apologized repeatedly throughout the missive for being unable to contact them. At first, he revealed, he hadn't been consistently conscious enough to do so, then he had lacked access to an owl or other means of communication, and finally he had been forbidden from doing so by his guardian, whom Harry's cryptic clues revealed was Remus Lupin. This angered Ron, who couldn't believe their favorite Defense professor wouldn't take a few minutes to let them know Harry was okay. Hermione was peeved, too, but when she saw where Harry had been sent upon his premature discharge from the hospital, she thought she might have some inkling of Professor Lupin's reluctance. As Harry described the extent of his injuries to them, both of them knowing he was likely downplaying the issues, Ron completely lost his temper when he read that the headmaster has insisted upon returning him to the Dursleys until at least his 18th birthday.

Interspersed throughout the letter were also subtle hints of things that Harry was clearly only willing to tell them in person. All in all, the message did a great deal to calm them, but both Ron and Hermione desperately wanted to see Harry with their own eyes. Hesitant to bring it up, Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to address Ron, "I don't think we should tell most of your family, especially your mum, about this letter." Ron didn't immediately shout at her, but he did get up and stomp away from her and the tree. She didn't follow. Ron needed to come to the right conclusion on his own, or he would be an absolutely useless partner, and she would have no choice but to cut him out of her plans.

Twenty minutes later, he dropped to the ground beside her once more. She silently met his blue eyes with her brown, waiting for him to speak first. "You're right. Mum's initial source was probably Dumbledore. We can't...we can't trust that she wouldn't report back to him with information that could be used to hurt Harry, even if that's the last thing she would want to do." He sighed and rubbed his eyes, "What about the twins? They can keep a secret...and will understand."

"That's true. But...maybe we should try to get in touch with him first... see what he wants to do, or even talk to Professor Lupin. I get the feeling that Harry sent this to us either without telling him or specifically against his wishes. He is obviously under powerful wards, I wonder how he managed..." she trailed of, "Of course! The full moon was a few days ago. The professor probably sent him to someone he trusted for the night, and clever Harry used the opportunity to send us the letters he had been writing to us from the beginning. How will we get a message back to him, though?" She wondered aloud.

"Bill!" Replied Ron, suddenly. She gave him a perplexed look, so he elaborated. "We can get Bill to deliver our message through the Goblins. Gringotts always has ways to reach their clients." He was pleased with himself for providing a solution to their dilemma.

Hermione was a bit skeptical, "I am sure the Goblins don't appreciate being used like postal owls. Will they even deliver it?"

Ron considered her objection for a moment, "'Mione, the Goblin King gave him a Letter of Patent granting him a boon, I can't imagine his own account manager at the bank would refuse to deliver a letter to him. Can you?"

"No, I suppose not. But, we should still ask your brother about the proper protocol; after all, the last thing we want to do is offend them. Do you want to write to him, or wait until he comes around?" She asked.

"He should be here in just a few minutes," he offered. "Mum's doing a Sunday roast, and she'll have insisted he come, with Fleur, despite how she feels about the fact that they are dating."

"Excellent! We'll just have to get him alone for a few minutes." Before they headed inside, she quickly penned a note to Harry to arrange a meeting. She hoped it came through clearly how they wouldn't take his word for how he was doing until they had seen him in person. A few minutes later, she thrust a piece of parchment at Ron. "How's this?"

He added a few things to it and signed the bottom. "Perfect! We should send all the notes that got returned too," he decided.

"That's a good idea, I'll run up and put them in my bag before lunch. Do you think you can corner him?"

Tilting his head, Ron admitted, "If he is alone, sure...but you know Fleur...ah...distracts me, which annoys my brother, and might make me too slow to seize our opportunity. We should probably try to do it together to maximize our chances of success, otherwise it could be another week, or more if things go badly this afternoon, before we will see him again."

As they stood up, Hermione grabbed Ron in a fierce hug. She looked a little embarrassed by how impulsive her actions had been. As they pulled apart, she thought Ron might kiss her...and she didn't know if she actually wanted him to or not. Thankfully, he merely patted her awkwardly on the shoulder as they headed into the house together, on a mission for Harry once more.

The smells of a delicious Sunday Roast wafted over them as they entered the kitchen through the back door. Molly had obviously outdone herself with both roast beef and roasted pork on offer, as well as stuffing, gravy, roast potatoes, brussel sprouts, runner beans, and even Yorkshire pudding. Hermione spotted several tarts with berries cooling in the counter and suspected bread and butter pudding with homemade custard sauce would also be available based on her experiences at previous Weasley Sunday events.

She wished Molly would allow her to bring something, but the red-haired matriarch wouldn't hear of it. Sighing, Hermione carried her shoes to the front door and ran upstairs for the letters and her bag before anyone missed her. On her way back down, she made a strategic visit to the loo to wash her hands to explain her absence. She was pleased to see Ron chatting with Bill when she returned to the main floor. She quickly joined them before Bill could leave to rescue Fleur. The part-Veela was a big girl; she could handle being in Percy's clutches a little longer. "Hermione," greeted Bill, as the witch tried to read from Ron's expression how far he had managed to get in his explanation of their request.

"Bill, it's nice to see you. How are you doing?" She replied politely, though he surely picked up on her anxiousness.

"I can't complain. Ron was just telling me you needed to talk to me about something related to the bank." He stated, eyebrows raised.

"We do," she agreed. "It is imperative that we have a chance to speak with you privately before you leave today, but I am not sure we have enough time before everything is ready."

Precisely on cue, Molly called them to the table. "It's time for lunch!"

As they ate the lovely meal, Pompous Percy, as Hermione had taken to calling him in her head, asked her questions about her first week at the Ministry; though obviously only to provide himself with a platform from which to bore them all with talk of his own work rather than out of any genuine desire to hear her answers.

Fred and George heckled him a bit for his behavior, and Hermione was ashamed to admit she derived some pleasure from seeing the bespectacled red-head gape like a fish when the twins asked him if he planned on shutting up so she could answer his question.

Not wanting to monopolize the conversation, unlike some people, she shared that she had found it interesting so far and already learned that if it weren't for the last minute, nothing in her office would ever get done.

"I get the feeling that some of your office mates are going to come in one day and find color-coded agendas on their desks to help them manage their time better," Ron cracked.

"Don't worry, Ronald," she replied, bitingly, "You were instrumental in helping me realize when something is a lost cause."

His brothers went crazy razzing him and congratulating her for putting him in his place. Although she was relieved to see, as he saluted her with his glass, that he wasn't mad.

"You know me, Herms, I am always happy to help," came his rejoinder, causing them all to laugh.

The table moved on to other topics, and Hermione tried to draw Fleur in to conversation. She wasn't tremendously fond of the beautiful blonde, but Hermione was mature enough to admit that that could be because she secretly harbored the tiniest hint of jealousy toward the girl due to how some boys, including Ron, behaved around her; something she obviously didn't ask for or remotely enjoy. Moreover, the other witch likely hadn't been at her best given the stresses of the tournament when Hermione had formed her first impression, thus she felt she owed Fleur another chance. She didn't think Bill was likely to fall for just a pretty face, so there had to be something underneath her facade of French snobbery...she was just struggling to determine what that was as the foreign witch rebuffed her.

As the pudding course was cleared away, Hermione made eye contact with Bill and Ron before carrying dishes to the sink. Arthur, Fred, and Ginny would be doing the washing up this evening, so Bill signaled his intent to take a walk around the garden. After confirming she wasn't required for the cleaning efforts, Hermione thanked Mrs. Weasley for the amazing meal before heading outside with Ron. Much to their dismay, Fleur followed along as well. They didn't have the luxury of delay, and she couldn't really blame the girl for not wanting to stay inside and be subjected to Molly's passive aggressiveness. She was a bank employee, too, and Hermione suspected it was only a matter of time before the two were a package deal anyway.

After they had moved a sufficient distance from the house and far enough into the blooming orchard that they couldn't be easily spied upon from the house, Bill put up several heavy privacy wards. "What is it that you needed to talk to me about so urgently tonight?" he asked them.

Hermione pulled out a sheaf of parchment from her bag and handed them over. "We would like you to request the Goblins give these to Harry on our behalf," the bushy-haired witch began.

"Harry is an important client, to be sure, Hermione, but I don't know if the Goblins will appreciate me asking to use the Potter account manager like a courier service for a personal matter," he warned.

"Maybe this will change your mind," Ron stated, telling him the story of the Goblin King's message and the Boon.

Bill was speechless for a full five minutes, so Fleur jumped in. "What did the ring look like?" She asked curiously.

They described it to her, but it wasn't until Hermione drew the symbol that had been on the stone in the dirt that Bill emerged from his shock. "Merlin's ball sack," he whispered. He focused his sharp blue eyes on Ron and Hermione as he ordered, "Start from the beginning."

Ron began to talk, but Hermione cut him off. "We need an oath from you first."

Bill raised his eyebrows at her, and Ron whipped his head in her direction, but Fleur nodded in approval. "What should we swear?" The oldest red-head asked.

Licking her lips nervously, because Hermione absolutely hated having to come up with things like this on the fly, she said, "That you won't tell anyone what we are about to tell you, directly or indirectly - and will be especially careful not to be overheard if and when you talk about it amongst yourselves- unless either Harry or the two of us together give you permission to do so. Obviously, you may tell the Goblins whatever you feel you need to in order to achieve our task, because we are pretty sure they already know all of this and more," she finished more confidently that she felt. Ron seconded her requirements and her permission to tell the Goblins.

Bill and Fleur nodded and gave their oaths. Once they'd settled, the two recent Hogwarts graduates began their tale. In silent agreement, she and Ron shared as little as they thought they could get away with, largely because this wasn't really their story to tell. By the end of the recitation, Fleur was crying, and Bill seemed pretty affected too. "I think you should hear the rest from Harry himself," Hermione said at last, more emotionally drained than she had anticipated. "I know he respects both of you a great deal, so I am sure he will be willing to answer any questions you have." She briefly considered showing them the letters from him, but decided against it. She didn't want to breach their friend's privacy more than they already had this evening.

"Thank you for trusting us," Bill finally said. "Do you know where Harry is? I am sure as soon as I approach the Goblins about him, they are going to try and get me to help them arrange a meeting."

"We know who he is with," Ron admitted, "but not where. He's safe," he added.

"So, you will deliver our messages?" Hermione confirmed.

"First thing tomorrow," he agreed. "I won't read your notes, but I would like to copy them so I can give them to both the Potter and Black account managers, just to hedge our bets. I imagine they will tripping over themselves to do this, based on everything you've told me, but just in case."

"We better go inside before Mum sends out a search party," Ron pronounced. The other three nodded as they walked back toward the house, each caught in their own thoughts.

***  
To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: PapillonMagique and linuxrocs. Thank you for your comments! Thanks also to JJ07 for the new bookmark and climbingup for the new kudos.
> 
> I would also like to acknowledge the help of my oldest son, who is great at thinking up pranks and has probably planned out a wizarding version of every board game we own by now. His obsession with HP is obviously genetic.


	13. Summer of Love - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 1998 - Harry spends the summer with Remus and company in Wales, bonding and healing. Tonks and Remus flirt, Harry gets mail, the Goblins reach out, and some of Dumbledore’s machinations become clearer. Daphne, Neville, Ron, and Hermione make appearances, too This is part 3 (AU).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter take place in July 1998, immediately following 'Summer of Love - Part 2. 
> 
> I divided the mega chapter into two chapters. This is the first half.

~Previously..."We better go inside before Mum sends out a search party," Ron pronounced. The other three nodded as they walked back toward the house, each caught in their own thoughts

*****************************  
15 July 1998 - Hiraeth House - Monmouthshire, Wales - 10:30am

Flicking his wand at the clean dishes stacked neatly on the counter, Remus was gratified to see them all whizz to their appropriate storage places. The last time he had tried that, much to Dora's amusement, the plates and bowls had slammed into the closed cupboard doors leaving a few chipped and broken before he hastily repaired them.

Speaking of his favorite Tonks, her jack-rabbit Patronus hopped up to him with a message. "Remus, Tonks here. I was wondering if I could floo to yours."

Remus was surprised to find how much he was looking forward to seeing her, shoving all thoughts of how she deserved someone younger and more whole to the back of his mind. It was her choice, and it would be presumptuous of him to try and dictate it to her...and perhaps also a special kind of masochistic to advocate for the very opposite of what he actually wanted. After adjusting his wards, he sent a message back: "I would love some company." He couldn't keep the smile off his face as he headed to the fireplace.

Nymphadora came through with less violent fanfare than last time; there wasn't even a hint of unsteadiness in her landing. She shot him a smug look, which immediately faltered as she somehow managed to trip over thin air on her way to greet him. Blushing slightly, she said, "Wotcher, Remus. You're looking well."

"Uh...thanks," he replied, feeling some color rise in his own cheeks. He was 38 years old for the love of Merlin, he shouldn't be having this reaction to a simple compliment. "You as well," he added, knowing the color on his face would now be even darker and more obvious. Thankfully, she took it all in stride.

"Where's Har-Bear?" Dora asked, taking a seat on the brown divan.

Remus put his hand over his heart in faux shock, pretending to scold her, "Nymphadora Auriga Tonks, what would your mother say if she heard you refer to your Head of House as Har-Bear?"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt me," the pink-haired metamorphmagus joked. "Well?" She prompted when he didn't answer her question.

"Resting, he didn't sleep well last night," Remus eventually told her.

Picking up on his concern, she sought to comfort him. "Given what he's revealed to us, and, more importantly, what he hasn't told us, that isn't unexpected. But, my dad says he's getting better and stronger everyday; you're exactly what he needs right now, Remus."

Running his hands through his hair, he released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "I don't know about that, but I hope he knows that I will always be here for him."

The love she felt for him had never been more overt. It was clear in the tilt of her head, the placement of her hand, and shining in her eyes. As it rushed through her, she couldn't hope to conceal it; and, she wasn't sure she wanted to. She loved Remus Lupin, that was undeniable. Why shouldn't she shout it from the rooftops? She was immediately brought down to Earth, however, when the niggling worries about the fact that he may not feel the same way surged to the forefront of her thoughts. She knew he liked her well enough, was even passingly fond of her- but did he truly love her? Would he allow himself to feel those emotions? Did he even know how to let himself love someone romantically? She knew he had essentially cut himself off from the possibility well before he graduated Hogwarts, and that was a lot of years and ingrained behaviors to overcome. She could do it, though; she would do it. He was worth it, and so was she. Maybe she could get her paterfamilias to help her out.

The two of them sat next to each other in contented silence for a while, and she leaned into his strong frame. And, miraculously, for the fourth time in as many days, he permitted it. More amazingly, he initiated contact by wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer. She smiled; her concerted campaign to wear down his resistance and work through his fears and excuses with patience, sensitivity, and more than a little humor was finally paying off.

Eventually, Remus asked her if she wanted to stay for lunch. She did, she really, really did, but she had errands to run on the Alley that she wouldn't have time for the rest of the week due to her work schedule. "I would love to, but I have to pick up a few things in Diagon," she informed him with regret. "I promised my parents I'd do a bit of their shopping too and visit the bank since I'm off today."

He pulled away from her as if suddenly realizing something and asked, "Why aren't you at work on a Wednesday?"

"I am on the schedule for Saturday and Sunday, so they let me have a weekday," she explained.

Remus hesitated for a moment before looking as if he had resolved himself to swallowing poison. "I hate to impose," he paused again, "but since you are already going to the bank, would you be willing to drop off and pick up a few things for me?"

Of course she was willing, but she was a bit surprised that he had that much business with Gringotts. "No problem," she assured him. "Should I just engage with a teller or..."

"I would be very grateful if you would collect my mail, as well as Harry's. I have long used their post drop service, as I have been somewhat itinerant for much of my adult life. And, now, though I live here, I don't want any owls to compromise the security of the cottage. Even if they couldn't get through the wards, an owl could easily be followed to this location, which I absolutely do not want."

"Constant Vigilance!" she teased, though it was clear the auror in her approved. "How does that work?" she questioned, intrigued.

"I had to affix my 'magical location' in ritual, and I reinforce it with a post redirection ward on the house and my person. I can of course reverse it at any time, and maybe someday, I will. As for Harry, the Goblins have kindly agreed to do basic curse detection and breaking on his mail and are separating his personal correspondence from messages intended for 'the savior;' all for a fee of course."

"Of course," she agreed, smiling.

"I probably need to recast the redirection ward on Harry, since I was afraid to use anything too strong on him initially," Remus muttered to himself. Refocusing his attention on her, he elaborated on the specifics of his request. "I also need you to deliver this," he went to the open roll-top desk along the wall and tapped his wand against it, revealing a previously hidden drawer. From inside, he produced a letter bearing the Potter seal and handed it to her.

Before she could say anything, Harry emerged from the hall. She winced in sympathy at his slow, obviously painful movements, notably stiffer even with the walker than they had been in Basingstoke several days ago. He looked quite unwell.

Remus made his way to the teen and helped settle him. Harry seemed beyond the embarrassment such actions usually produced. His atypically dull green eyes hadn't noticed her presence until he was seated, and he startled at the unexpected guest. "Tonks," he said, his voice rough. "I didn't see you there," he admitted. "How are you?"

"Better than you, it seems," she couldn't help but respond.

He chuckled dryly at her blunt pronouncement. He appreciated that she wasn't tiptoeing around him, treating him like glass. "I hope so," he replied, more earnestly than he intended. She frowned.

"Are you alright?"

"I will be," he said with surprising conviction. "It was just a difficult night."

Remus offered him a potion and a glass of water. He accepted the drink, but declined the medicine. "It'll put me back to sleep, and I have a few things I would like to read through today," Harry told the disapproving werewolf. Visibly wilting under the other wizard's gaze, he added, "I will take something later, I promise."

Feeling guilty, Remus gently touched Harry's shoulder and apologized. "I am sorry cub, I'm just worried about you, and I hate to see you hurting."

"I know," the teen replied, trying to project a more upbeat demeanor. "And I am grateful." This statement only served to make Remus feel more miserable, but he knew he wasn't going to break through 17 years of abuse in a few weeks, so he let it go. After all, Hogwarts hadn't been built in a day.

Feeling as though she were eavesdropping on some very private moments, Tonks stood awkwardly as she prepared to leave. "I'll stop back by this afternoon," she promised them.

"Wait!" Harry called. "I see you have the message about the property," he stated, gesturing towards the letter she still clutched in her hand. "Would you mind delivering this as well?" he asked, pulling a very thick envelope from his robes; she noted it was adorned with both the Black and Potter seals.

Without even being aware she was doing it, she curtsied low and responded, "I would be happy to, My Lord."

Harry was nonplussed by her uncharacteristic formality, but shook it off quickly. The wizarding world was so strange sometimes, he just had to go with it, or he'd never get anything done. "Thank you. You should be able to give both items to Garrast, the Potter Family account manager," he informed her.

She waved goodbye and flooed back to her flat, which was was within easy walking distance of the Leaky Cauldron. Deciding it'd be a good idea to do at least some of her running today in disguise, she left her flat as herself in order to complete her own errands and those of her parents. She intended to apparate to Basingstoke with their items, make a couple of random jumps, and then return to the Alley in a completely different guise for Remus and Harry's business. Satisfied she had a workable plan, she headed for Madam Malkins; her mother insisted they all purchase new dress robes for their Head of House's 18th birthday. It seemed more than a bit silly to Dora, as she knew Harry didn't care one whit how they dressed, but it was deeply important to her mother, so she tried to keep her complaints to a minimum.

Meanwhile, back at the cottage, Remus asked Harry about the second letter. "It is obviously none of my business," the older wizard began, "so feel free to tell me to keep my nose out of it, but I confess to some curiosity about what you gave Dora."

"It was a letter to King Ragnuk. I figured I should thank him for the Boon and explain what happened. He certainly has the right to know, and I was sort of hoping that all the um...extra information about what happened with Voldemort might keep him from being too upset with me." Suddenly looking and sounding impossibly young, Harry asked Remus, "Do you think it will? Convince him, I mean?"

"I don't see how it wouldn't, Cub," Remus reassured, stroking his unruly hair.

Harry nodded; apprehensive but hopeful.

"How about you tell me a story while I get our lunch together?" Remus asked casually.

"Me? I don't think..."

Laughing softly, Remus said, "I've heard you had some pretty crazy adventures at Hogwarts." When he saw the younger man's haunted look, he took a different tact. "I'm rather curious about how you managed to save Sirius after I transformed at the end of your third year. Sirius didn't know, and he never quite worked out how to ask you."

"Okay," Harry agreed softly, taking a minute to figure out where he should begin. As Remus cut up fruit and sliced some ham, the whole sordid tale spilled out. Harry revealed the existence of a time turner. The former professor couldn't contain the growl that escaped when he heard they had given a teenage girl a heavily regulated magical artifact to take more classes. What had the Ministry and Dumbledore been thinking? How had they convinced the usually reasonable Minerva McGonagall to allow it?

The raven-haired teen explained that they had gone back several hours, mostly managed to avoid seeing themselves, and ended up saving both the falsely maligned hippogriff Buckbeak and Sirius. His voice broke when he talked about being convinced it had been his father who had rescued them from the dementors, eventually revealing it had actually been his own powerful stag Patronus that had driven them off, if not outright destroyed, hundreds of the foul Azkaban guards that evening. He confessed that he had not realized the important role his time-displaced self needed to play until it had almost been too late. He teared up when he told Remus about how life changing Sirius' offer for him to come live with him had been, to have proof that someone might actually want him; and how he regretted that the two of them hadn't had more time together.

Remus walked around the counter and hugged Harry as tightly as he dared. He made Harry meet his eyes, "I have always wanted you, Harry, always. You are my family, my pack. With no disrespect intended toward your father or Sirius, I think of you as my own child; anyone would be lucky to have you as a son. I made some really stupid decisions when you were younger, and I let myself be talked out of whisking you away from everything. I allowed manipulative old men to play on my misplaced loyalty and deepest insecurities, and I know you suffered for it. I have no excuse. I feel so blessed that you forgave me so easily after we met properly in your third year, but I know it isn't enough...that it will never be enough." He found himself crying, too, as he held his best friend's son. Wiping the wetness from Harry's cheeks with a conjured handkerchief, he said, "The two of us make quite a pair, don't we?"

At a loss for anything to say, many emotions, positive and negative, fighting for purchase and supremacy in his muddled heart, Harry could only nod. He loved Remus like a father, too, never mind that he had been almost past the point of needing one by the time the two had been introduced. The offer from Sirius had been magical, and like some magic, dazzling, but ultimately fleeting and ephemeral...an unfinished wand movement or half-cast wish, never realized. Remus' talks, visits, and letters since his third year, in contrast, had been modest, but tangible. A thin, but concrete, lifeline he had desperately needed; one Sirius had also provided, but—and it felt disloyal and wrong to have such thoughts — Remus' support wasn't as manic or bitter and wasn't so tainted by expectations that Harry knew he couldn't meet. Harry was not James, and he would never be James. The two of them had been shaped by such different experiences that Harry feared they shared little beyond untamable hair and horrible eyesight. Yes, they had both been Gryffindors, but the hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin, hadn't it? He was quite certain the sorting hat had never once considered the house of snakes for James...Sirius, maybe, but never James.

Harry felt too disquieted to be hungry, but he tried to eat, for Remus. Noticing that Harry was lost in troubled thoughts, he kicked himself for forcing the teen to open up when he clearly wasn't in the right frame of mind. He had seen the evidence of the other wizard's night terrors. Trying to draw Harry out again, but keeping the conversation deliberately light, he asked Harry how his reading was going.

"It isn't uninteresting, but I would rather read about quidditch or curses or shields and such."

"I understand," Remus commiserated, "I was never much for that type of history either." Seeing lunch as a lost cause and that Harry seemed uncomfortable in the chair, Remus helped him lay on the sofa. He briefly considered telling Harry about James and Lily's first meeting on the Hogwarts Express before deciding to save it for another time. He wanted Harry to rest and think about the future, not dwell on the past.

Several hours later, a silver animal that was not a jack-rabbit, but not anything else recognizable either, sat at Remus' feet and spoke in Dora's voice. "Can I come through?" The spell was impossible to fake, so what was going on? As a Defense expert, Remus was aware that a person's Patronus form could change, but he knew that only events with a very strong emotional component could precipitate such a shift. And, he had certainly never seen one mid-transition before. Unsure if he should ask her about it or not, he distractedly sent back the all-clear. He also decided he would key her to the cottage wards as he had done with Harry. It was time.

It was only when Dora stumbled into the table upon arrival that Harry stirred. He felt significantly better, though his back was still killing him. In the throes of his dreams, he must have thrashed around a great deal the night before without the brace; and he was definitely paying for it now.

Remus helped Harry to a chair, being well aware of the teen's preference for being upright in the presence of 'guests,' which seemed to mean everyone who wasn't Remus. Eyes closed and teeth clenched, Harry maintained a tight grip on Remus' arm as they crossed the 2 meters between the sofa and the chair. When the teen released an audible gasp upon sitting, the last Marauder, already concerned, nearly insisted that he lay down again. When he caught sight of the determined expression on the younger wizard's face, however, he resolved to let things be. Harry knew his own limits, hopefully, and Remus had to respect that.

Watching the whole procession with worried eyes, Dora made a note to ask Remus if he wanted her father to stop by that evening. It seemed like it might be a good idea. Trying to make everyone feel at ease, she slipped on the mildly goofy persona she wore like a favorite jumper. Putting down her bags, she passed the mail to Remus, who performed his own scans on the letters before deeming them safe enough to either open or give to Harry. Nymphadora waggled an eyebrow at him; he had used a few rather obscure spells in order to increase his chances of picking up anything the bank might have missed. She smirked at the thought of how scandalized the Goblins would be by his actions; they might stab him- to maim, not to kill- for even entertaining the idea that they could have made an error. They were nothing if not rightfully prideful about their work. "I already did the same, though I must admit my own repertoire is a bit more limited than yours. You'll have to teach Harry and I that last one," she turned toward the teen, "unless you already know it?"

"No, I don't," he replied, and Remus was happy to see him smiling, even if it was likely because Dora was looking at his godfather like a wolf might eye a particularly tasty morsel. Apparently, arcane spell work was attractive. "Though," Harry amended "I also like to use, "Ostendo Periculum. It's straight forward to be sure, but if you infuse it with enough power, it gets the job done."

Both the Auror and the professor looked thoughtful. Remus handed Harry several letters; it appeared that many of his friends had written him. The thickest packet by far was from Ron and Hermione. As he unfolded the parchment, he noted that, like him, they had written numerous times over the last several weeks; but none of their letters had been able to reach him despite multiple attempts.

As Harry read, the messages became increasingly fearful for him the longer they went without receiving a reply. Ron's mother had allegedly told them he was alive and well, but as she was unwilling or unable to provide additional details, their concerns had been far from assuaged. Hermione's final letter, obviously penned hastily the day they had received his bundle, plead for additional news from him and begged that they be allowed to visit him, to see with their own eyes that he was alright. Her note also made it clear that they had not told anyone else of his letters, out of respect for his safety and privacy, though she indicated they might possibly inform the twins- who were equally worried about him- and might also be needed to help them pull off a visit without being discovered.

Finishing those letters, Harry was similarly relieved to receive definitive confirmation that his friends were okay, and silently agreed that the twins could be trusted to keep a secret and would likely be willing to say Ron and Hermione were working for them in their shop should the pair need to slip away. The other two letters were from Neville Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass. Both of them were obviously worried about him, which warmed him inside for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint; though their letters were rather formal and polite...the price of being raised in a more conservative Pureblood household he supposed. Daphne, like Ron and Hermione, sought permission to visit him; Neville merely indicated that he would see him on the 1st of August, without detailing where or why...and indeed wrote it as though those two things would be well-known to Harry himself and thus did not warrant mentioning specifically.

Remus had finished reviewing his own post, and Harry saw that the older wizard had already sorted it into piles and placed it on the antique roll-top to be acted upon at a later time. Remus and Tonks were chatting quietly, though both must have been watching him out of the corners of their eyes, since they looked over as soon as he was done. Remus asked, "Is everything alright? Did you receive anything interesting?"

"As a matter of fact I did," Harry revealed. "A number of my friends who fought at Hogsmeade have been desperate to get in touch with me, but have not been able to reach me. Several report their owls returned to them unopened." He shot Remus a rather sharp look at that declaration, curious about what the werewolf would say about it.

"Harry, given the Ministry's insanity and Dumbledore's strange behavior, I couldn't risk a post owl being used to track you here. I am sorry. I cast a mail ward on you, without your permission, when we first arrived; though it was a relatively weak one. In fact, if it had taken better, their owls would have gone to the bank rather than returning to them without delivering their letters. I meant to talk to you about it, but honestly with everything going on, it slipped my mind." He ran his hands over his face and looked very apologetic. For his part, Harry couldn't really be angry given it was all done to protect him. "The wards on the cottage must have been what drove their owls away," he speculated.

"I definitely understand," Harry said calmly, "and I am grateful for all of your efforts to keep me safe. But, I don't fancy being completely cut off from everything for the entire summer, so could we talk through some options?" Harry was proud of how mature he sounded.

"Of course!" Remus seemed horrified that Harry might believe the ultimate decision wasn't his; that he would act like Dumbledore or the Dursleys and dictate without giving him choices. That reaction alone went a long way toward consoling Harry. He hadn't thought that was how Remus would proceed, but then again, given his past experiences and the fact that the man had by his own admission deliberately cut him off from most outside contact for the last two weeks, he hadn't been 100% positive. And frankly, given how dangerous it was to be Harry Potter, or harbor him, he wouldn't have blamed Remus if that had been his stance.

"Ron and Hermione really want to visit, and I would like to see them as well. Is that...I mean, would that be okay?"

Remus frowned, "I don't think it would be the best for them to visit here."

Harry looked as though he had been struck, but he quickly accepted the decision. This was after all Remus' home, and the man was more than entitled to determine who would or would not be welcome in it. "I see...I am sorry, I didn't..."

Remus' eyes widened as he processed what Harry must be thinking, "No, Harry. You misunderstand me. You can definitely see Ron and Hermione or any other friends that you want to...of course you can. You aren't in prison for Merlin's sake."

"But I thought you said..." Harry began before trailing off.

"I just meant that the cottage has a very extensive ward system, and I am reluctant to let anyone step foot in here who has not sworn a vow. Further, I am unwilling to extract an oath from such young witches and wizards. I know they would give it without hesitation, but what if someone were to take the knowledge from them without their permission? We could try to word the vow to consider different scenarios, but it would be impossible to account for every contingency. And, what if the vow then harmed them, through no dishonorable act of their own? I can't justify taking that risk with them."

"If not here, then where?" Harry asked, puzzled, feeling almost certain that the other wizard wouldn't let him go to the Burrow.

"Remember the other letter we sent with Dora today? The request for the wards in your ancestral seat to be renewed?"

"You want to go to Arundel Castle? I thought there were muggle tours running there all the time?" He wasn't sure how he felt about taking Ron and Hermione there, surrounded by reminders of his wealth and privilege...all of which embarrassed him. He just wanted to help people; to be an Auror who prevented bad wizards from doing bad things. He wanted to be Harry...just Harry, but he supposed it was foolish to wish for something that could never be. He knew he needed to start dealing with it, and maybe he would be able to use some of his political power, and didn't that sound ridiculous and arrogant, in both worlds to help people even more. It was something to consider, anyway.

"The East Wing is always sealed off for the family, Harry, and we can ensure no tours will run when we're there. I had planned to have your birthday party there. This is a rather momentous one for you, and certainly not everyone you might want to invite will fit here, it is a rather small place."

Flabbergasted, Harry couldn't help but stare. He had never considered having a birthday party before. True, once he had started Hogwarts, he had received birthday presents from his friends...but a party? Parties were for people like Dudley. "I've never had a party," the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Remus put his hand on Tonks' leg, probably to stop her from reacting. Remus himself looked like there was plenty he wanted to say about that, but all he voiced was, "Then we will have to make sure it is the best birthday party ever, won't we?"

Not knowing what to say, Harry just nodded.

"Once the Goblins finish updating the wards, we'll go over and start making preparations. Ron and Hermione can come and visit; maybe they'll want to help with the planning?"

"If my mother doesn't just take over the whole thing," Dora quipped. "This will be like a dream come true for her, you know."

"I welcome her exquisite taste and expertise," Remus intoned.

"Suck up!" Tonks teased.

"You don't have to go to all this trouble, Remus. I do want to see my friends of course, see for myself that everyone made it out okay, but we don't have to do a big production."

"Harry, a wizard only turns 18 once. It is a milestone in our world. This may be your first big affair like this, but I am certain it won't be your last. Don't fret, it will be fun!" Remus told him. Leaving Harry to his thoughts for a minute, the graying wizard turned to Tonks, "Before you go, Dora, I'd like to add you to the wards."

She was shocked! This was like giving someone a house key in the muggle world, a huge step in their relationship that she thought might never come, even if she acknowledged that this move might be driven more by practical considerations and convenience than indicative of any grand romantic gesture. It didn't change the fact that she was going to be joining a very select group by becoming one of only three people keyed to the ward matrix. "I would be honored," she told him, tempted to kiss him, but refraining other than a heartfelt peck on the cheek. Things were definitely looking up.

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20 July 1998 - Arundel Castle - West Sussex- 1:15pm

Having received word from Gringotts early that morning that the additional wards and protections on Harry's ancestral home were complete, Remus quickly made arrangements for them to visit. He had invited Andromeda along, and the witch had eagerly accepted. They were lucky that it was a Monday, and the castle was not typically open to public on that day of the week. Remus made a mental note to engage with the English Heritage people and the castle staff as soon as possible about arranging a series of closures, most especially the days leading up to Harry's birthday. In fact, upon a review of the calendar, it seemed best to just plan for the castle to be closed for a 'private event' from Tuesday July 28th through Saturday August 1st. Since the castle was slated to be open out of cycle on the Bank Holiday Monday, August 3rd, it shouldn't be too disruptive. He still felt slightly guilty for not being able to provide more notice, but it couldn't be helped.

"Are you ready?" Remus asked, finding himself looking forward to Harry's reaction. He had visited the estate twice during his Hogwarts years and again for James and Lily's wedding; the rooms and gardens had not disappointed. He suspected some renovations might be required, particularly in the East Wing, since it hadn't really been occupied since the late 70's, but that shouldn't be too cumbersome with the aid of magic. Furthermore, he was confident that the portfolio from the Goblins would have information about the architectural and design firms that had been affiliated with the castle in the past.

"As ready as I will ever be, I guess," responded Harry. "You said my dad grew up there?"

"That's right. He and your mother wanted a little more privacy in the early years of their marriage than either the East or West wings of the castle would have afforded them, which is why they struck out on their own."

Andromeda came through the floo at precisely the previously agreed upon time, looking as disgruntled as she always did by the mess it generated. She greeted them respectfully, but spent the next several minutes brushing away ash and soot with barely concealed irritation. Harry wasn't sure why she was bothering since they were about to embark on another journey by fireplace, but to each their own. "You are certain we will be able to get through to the main fireplace? Getting bounced back through the floo system is quite unpleasant."

"Gringotts assured me that as long as we arrive by 2:00pm, we shouldn't have any trouble." Remus responded.

"I wish Ted or Dora had been able to come with us as well," she fretted, eying Harry worriedly.

"I will go through first," explained the former professor, "then you and Harry will follow together."

"Right," the elegant witch, acknowledged. "We'll give you several minutes to prepare for us."

With that, Remus tossed a healthy handful of silver powder into the fireplace and called out "Arundel," loudly, as he jumped in, swirling away to his destination.

It was a smooth arrival, which pleased him. A quick survey of the room revealed that was no doubt aided by both the sheer size of the fireplace and the fact that he could detect numerous fading, but still present, stabilization and cushioning charms on the flooring in front of and around the hearth.

He had just enough time to remove the disturbing white animal skin rug in front of the fireplace, which he deemed a significant trip hazard, as well as perform a quick homemum revelio before the others arrived. He was happy to note that he was the only person in the castle or on the grounds, just as promised. Even the omnipresent castle manager, gardener, and archivist had been sent home for the day. Moving very close to the fireplace, he poised himself to steady the pair when they landed.

A few minutes later, two figures arrived in a veritable whirlwind. Thankful for once for the enhanced reflexes and strength afforded to him by his condition, he was able to catch Harry as he was spat out of the green flames, thereby preventing the less than graceful exit from causing any injuries. Unfortunately, as he was rather preoccupied with keeping Harry upright, Andromeda was forced to fend for herself. She managed to remain on her feet, barely, though both of them were a mess.

Unshrinking Harry's forearm crutches, which he was far more adept at using than he had been two weeks prior, Remus still maintained a steadying arm around the younger wizard's waist. Eyebrow raised at Andromeda, Remus commented, "I didn't have nearly the same difficulties coming through."

Raising her own eyebrow at the werewolf, she replied, "Yes, well, Lord Potter is an exceptionally powerful wizard. I imagine that can wreak havoc on the delicate floo pathways if his Magic's interaction with them is completely unfiltered." Turning to the young lord, she said, "We need to teach you to cloak and shield your magic. I expect learning that skill will save you untold amounts of trouble with various methods of wizarding transportation in the future."

Content to push her declaration and its implications aside for now in favor of examining his surroundings, Harry merely nodded.

The room was huge, reminiscent of the Great Hall at Hogwarts but with fine oak paneling; gleaming wide-plank floors; and a gorgeous, vaulted hammer beam roof. His eyes were drawn to the stone tracery of the Rose Window at one end of the hall; the abundance of stained glass reminding him more of a cathedral than a home. Really, it all seemed to be too much. It was a place one might tour for a school trip, not a place one would live. Certainly reinforcing that impression, Harry noted the entire perimeter of the room, which was surely at least 100 feet long, was outlined by red velvet ropes. The barriers blocked access to various pieces of furniture and paintings; he supposed to keep tourists from inadvertently damaging any priceless antiques.

Andi walked through the long hall, eyes alight with approval as she appreciated the room's beautiful art and architecture. "Is this the room you were planning to use?" she asked Remus.

"It is, although we can certainly explore other options," he offered. He spoke quietly to Harry next, "This is where Lily and James' had their wedding reception, and if the historical records are to be believed, this was also where your great-grandfather Henry, your namesake's, 18th birthday party was held. It was reportedly quite the event in its day."

Harry moved away from Remus, walking carefully through the room and taking in the large windows and high ceiling. It was easy to imagine the space filled with tables and decorations; and there was definitely room for a dais and dance floor. However, it seemed a bit excessive for the party he thought they would be having for him. He didn't fancy being the center of attention at some huge high-society affair where he barely knew most of the attendees. He thought it was best for him to speak up now before Remus and Andi got too carried away. "How many people were you planning to invite?" he asked, hoping the question was enough to convey his preferences and concerns. Both Andromeda and Remus were very perceptive, so he thought it likely.

Remus, who had been drowning in memories, broke free from the past at the sudden question. "It's your party, Harry, who do you want to invite?" He responded simply. The older wizard then proceeded to unhook one of the ropes and motioned for Harry to come and sit in one of the upholstered chairs along the wall; this one happened to be stationed behind an ornate table. Remus cast a couple of repairing and strengthening charms on the furniture just in case. With an expectant look, he gestured again, "Go on, have a seat," he insisted.

"Remus," Harry said, "I can't just...they don't want people using these chairs."

"Your Grace," Andromeda said, sweeping up behind them, her circuit of the room complete and her tone and use of his title deliberate, "these are your chairs, you can most certainly sit in one."

Sighing, he decided it wasn't worth arguing the point with them, particularly if they were united. He waved Remus off and used the table and the sturdy arm of the chair to position himself in the seat, propping the crutches within easy reach against the large window ledge behind him. "Why don't you start writing out a possible guest list?" Remus requested, "and then, depending on the numbers, we can consider the relative merits of a few locations..." it seemed as though Remus had intended to say more, but was cut off by the arrival of a surprisingly tall goblin dressed in a very fine suit.

Both Remus and Andromeda immediately bowed deeply, which made Harry realize exactly which Goblin this was. He scrambled to grab his crutches, since he didn't make it a habit of sitting in the presence of Kings, especially ones who might have a reason to be upset with him. However, before he could brace himself against the table, the Goblin spoke, "Your Grace, please, there is no need for you to rise; you are obviously still recovering from your ordeal."

As he strode purposefully across the room, closing the gap between them, Andromeda and Remus quickly made their way over to where King Ragnuk XXIII, Head of the Goblin Consortium, stood. Remus conjured a chair for the king, who inclined his head almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement. "I decided to come and pass the wards to you myself today because of the contents of your letter. I wanted to talk to you, and I saw no reason not to kill two bats with one stone, so to speak."

"Your Majesty, I..." Harry began.

The Goblin King held up one long-fingered hand, stopping Harry's apology mid-stream. In a poor attempt at levity, he joked, "Given what happened with Godric and the sword forged by my ancestor, I didn't have too many expectations concerning the outcome of our arrangement. It is apparently the way of things when a Goblin grants a boon to a wizard;" his sense of humor was as sharp as the dagger at his side. Seeing in his companion's eyes that his words had only served to compound what Ragnuk believed to be unnecessary guilt, he spoke more plainly. "Did not the Spectre of Death itself take the ring from your hand, child...after you had passed through the veil?"

"Well, yes," Harry confirmed, because what else could he have said? And, really, when one put it in those terms, the sin in question didn't seem quite so grave...pardoning the pun.

"Then, you have nothing to be sorry for. And, between the two of us, I might have had some inkling from our seers of how things could potentially play out. Indeed, I worded the Letter of Patent as I did in accordance with their demands. I had not realized the ending clause would be invoked so quickly, of course, however, my lawyers assure me that, contractually speaking, we have both fulfilled our respective terms and are thus in the clear." He leaned forward then, and with surprising gentleness, used one claw-like finger to raise Harry's chin so the teen met his gaze. "There are no debts between us, child. The ledger is balanced."

"I understand, Your Majesty," Harry replied softly, though he wasn't entirely sure he did.

"Good," The King said, his voice louder as he rose from the seat. This time Harry followed, though it was a struggle. Turning toward Andromeda and Remus, perhaps to give Harry a little privacy to collect himself, King Ragnuk pronounced cryptically, "Though it must be said, one can never have too many well-placed friends."

Clapping his hands, Ragnuk returned his attention to Harry, "Now then, on to the other reason I am here. Time is after all money." He pulled several pieces of parchment from a pocket inside his vest and handed them to Remus. "Gringotts has completed the security upgrades on this property, Your Grace. The detailed plans are in the papers I provided your Castellan. The final step in this transaction is for me to pass full ownership of the wards to you."

"Wait! Er...Your Majesty," Remus added, after his outburst earned him reproachful looks from both Andromeda and Ragnuk himself. "Lord Potter's magical core is still on the mend. His healer hasn't even approved him to resume regular usage of his wand. I don't think it would be advisable to...that is, I must insist that you pass the wards to myself or Mrs. Tonks at this time."

"I am afraid I can't do that, Mr. Lupin. This has been the House of Potter's ancestral seat for more than 1000 years. It was difficult enough to coax the castle's shattered wards into allowing us to hold them temporarily in order to repair them, and even that was only possible because Lord Potter's request for our services included a magically binding provision stating he would re-claim them when the repairs were through. Call your healer, now; I will wait. The consequences of attempting to circumvent that proviso could cause a backlash that would kill us all."

Andromeda immediately contacted Ted, who managed to make his way to their location in record time. He had been given little information to go on, and naturally feared the worst. The last thing he expected to see when he landed in the Castle's famed Barrons Hall, however, was the Head of the Goblin Consortium making tense small talk with his wife and Harry and Remus. "Your Majesty!" Ted said, bowing low- was he supposed to kneel? Shit...he had no idea.

"Healer..." The King looked at him with impatience.

"Tonks, Ted Tonks, Your Majesty." Merlin, now he sounded like a fucking Ian Flemming character. His heart was pounding in his chest; unamused Goblins were not a good thing in his book.

"Healer Tonks, we need you to ascertain whether or not your patient can accept the wards to this property without doing permanent damage to his core. It is imperative that this transfer take place, so anything short of permanent magical disability or death is insufficient cause for delay."

Unsure of what to say to that, he decided discretion was most definitely the better part of valor when faced with the bloody King of Goblins...his daughter was right...there really was a Harry Potter effect. Mentally shrugging, he went to Harry's side and helped him into the nearby chair. It looked like someone had already been sitting in it, so it was probably fine. "I am going to do an invasive scan," he told Harry, "and it is probably going to be uncomfortable. I am sorry, but this is the only way to really get the information needed to make an informed decision."

"Okay," Harry agreed easily.

Ted cast, and he heard Harry's sharp intake of breath. Unfortunately, he had to probe deeply into any remaining fissures in the teen's core to determine their depth and severity as well as test its overall strength. He didn't know exactly how much of a magical burden these wards would be, but given the level of security and the size of the property, he figured, conservatively, they would impose several times the strain that the wards of his own house placed on him. With that in mind, he pressed. To say he was shocked by his findings was an understatement. Harry's magical recovery was essentially complete, despite what the current literature on the subject had predicted for the healing timeline following such a severe core depletion. It was nothing short of miraculous, truly. Straightening, Ted announced to the group, "I am confident he will be able to handle the wards without any negative effects."

Harry was still pale, but smiled widely at him. That was excellent news. He wasn't honestly too surprised, because he had felt his power building, nearly aching to be released. He had, in fact, experienced several instances of accidental magic over the last few days, which was nearly as shameful at his age as wetting the bed would have been.

"Splendid," Ragnuk said, before approaching the raven-haired wizard. "It is probably best if you stay seated, child, as these are quite heavy." Before beginning, the King commanded Ted to his side. "Healer!"

Hurrying to obey, the large blonde man made haste toward Harry and Ragnuk. "Garrast lost consciousness briefly when these wards were passed to him, it is not inconceivable that Lord Potter will have a similar reaction, never having held any wards, much less ones of this magnitude, previously. Be prepared."

"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Ted, positioning himself on one side of Harry, while Remus took up the other.

Without further fanfare, the King took both of Harry's hands in his own and initiated the transfer. It was fast, despite the Goblins attempt to throttle the on-slot. When it was over, the wards practically sang at being back with a Potter, causing bells to ring out across the estate. Harry felt fine, and not at all faint. He was certainly aware of the wards, but they were a comforting, not draining, presence.

Peering into Harry's green eyes, the King must have seen something that reassured him that all was well.

"I believe our business here is done," he said abruptly. "No need to get up child," he stated, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder to prevent an attempt. He addressed the others, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things I must attend to. Your Grace," he requested formally, "If you would be so kind as to shift the wards so I could return to the bank, I would appreciate it."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Harry replied obediently, carefully identifying the appropriate thread and...lifting it for lack of a better word. "You, ah, should be good to go, Sire." They all breathed a sigh of relief when the Goblin departed without incident.

"You live a very interesting life, Harry Potter," Ted pronounced, grinning. "I can't wait to hear this story, but unfortunately I have to get back to the office now. I left Mrs. Murdoch waiting."

"Please apologize to your patient on my behalf."

"Don't worry about it, though I will probably drop your name so she doesn't try and hex me when I return. Can you let me floo, too?"

Lifting the thread again, gently, he signaled to Ted he was clear to go. The healer disappeared in a riot of green flames. Harry released his hold on the floo 'string,' and it snapped back in place.

"Harry," Remus asked, concerned, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I am," the last Potter stated firmly, "and I promise I would tell you if I weren't."

In an almost complete non-sequitur, Remus posed a question to the group, "What do you think Ragnuk meant when he was talking about the ledger and well-placed friends?"

Easily following the former professor's train of thought, Andromeda speculated, "He probably wants a political favor, I imagine a vote in support of Goblin interests in the Wizengamot or something similar."

"So, defeating Voldemort wasn't enough for him, then?" The werewolf couldn't keep all the anger out of his voice. He obviously felt the Consortium was being ungrateful given how bad the Dark Lord had been for business.

"Remus, trust me, the King considers it enough. He came to transfer the wards himself, in thanks, and made a vague request for future mutually beneficial endeavors...not a demand or threat. He would be a well-placed friend for Harry to have, too, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so, yes," he replied, but he didn't look happy about it.

Andi laughed, "Gryffindors! Acting like trading political favors is dishonorable since time immemorial..." She looked thoughtful for a moment, "Who is the proxy for the Potter seat, anyway?" She turned to Harry.

"I have no idea," Harry admitted.

She frowned, "You didn't appoint your own proxy?"

"No. I didn't even know I had a seat until two years ago, and well, I had more pressing things on my mind. I frankly just assumed the seat would be empty."

"It could be someone James appointed, or even Charlus," Remus offered.

"Or Dumbledore..." Andromeda suggested. "The next session of the Wizengamot is Lammas, Harry, the day after your 18th birthday, which means you will be eligible to vote your own seats. I wonder..." she trailed off. "We need to quietly find out who has been serving as the Potter Proxy, when they were appointed and by whom, and pull their voting record. We also need to find out what is on the agenda for the Lammas session. If I am right, it is something significant enough to Dumbledore for him to try and keep Harry from taking up his votes."

"We should talk to Neville's gran, Dowager Countess Longbottom. She has been sitting the Longbottom seat for the entire period we are interested in, and according to Neville, she has no lost love for the Headmaster."

"That's a great idea. When can you arrange a meeting?"

"Um, I guess as soon as her schedule allows. I have a letter for him at the cottage that I haven't sent yet, I'll add it to my message."

"Perfect!" Andromeda looked too pleased by half about the prospects of some political intrigue.

"What about the Black seat?" Harry asked.

"I assure you, it has been vacant since Arcturus died in the mid-eighties. The Black seat will only allow a proxy under specific, and very limited, circumstances- like for a single vote or session."

"What stops someone from just claiming to be the proxy, as may have happened with the Potter seat?" Remus asked, curiously.

Andi grinned somewhat viciously; it was sometimes easy to forget she had been raised a Black. This was decidedly not one of those times. "You see," she explained, "if authority over the seat isn't passed in ritual, like your ascension rite or one specifically created to permit the limited proxy scenario I mentioned earlier, then voting the seat would almost certainly kill anyone who would attempt it."

"Charming," Remus muttered.

"Tourjous Pur," Andi quoted, offering a fake toast to the two of them.

To Be Continued..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: GrogMcLeod, PapillonMagique, and linuxrocs. Thank you for your comments! Thanks also to marfarma and GrogMcleod for the new kudos and marrymoody, JTurner1446, lilyflower010107, and GrogMcleod for the new bookmarks!
> 
> This fic utilizes real places and real titles, but no real people were the basis of any of the story. The intent is to treat all traditions with the utmost respect, but this all takes place in an imaginary and alternate universe. I own nothing.


	14. Summer of Love - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Dumbledore’s machinations become clearer. Daphne, Neville, Ron, and Hermione make appearances, too. This is part 4 (AU).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I divided the mega chapter into two chapters. This is the second half.
> 
> The events in this chapter take place in July 1998, immediately following 'Summer of Love - Part 3.

~Previously..."If authority over the seat isn't passed in ritual, like your ascension rite or one specifically created to permit the limited proxy scenario I mentioned earlier, then voting the seat would almost certainly kill anyone who would attempt it."

"Charming," Remus muttered.

"Tourjous Pur," Andi quoted, offering a fake toast to the two of them.~~

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23 July 1998 - Arundel Castle - West Sussex- 5:54pm

Harry stood in the Barrons Hall awaiting the arrival of his best friends; he was quite eager to talk to them, but also anxious about their reactions. He had taken a life, semi-deliberately, since the last time he had seen them. It was something he himself had not quite come to terms with...what would Hermione have to say? He was meeting them in a bloody castle, his castle...would Ron start treating him like he had during much of the Triwizard tournament? He knew he was not giving his friends enough credit, but he couldn't help feeling insecure.

He had spent the last several weeks ensconced in a bubble of understanding with Remus and the Tonks family, but Harry knew it was time to break free of the cocoon. He was certainly no butterfly, but he was in the process of some kind of metamorphosis. From Harry the freak, to Harry the Duke...from the Boy-Who-Lived, to the Man-Who-Conquered...from innocent victim to blooded savior; he was changing, reluctantly. He supposed as long as he didn't turn into a cockroach like that bloke in the Kafka story, it would all work out. Before his thoughts could carry him away any further, Ron, followed quickly by Hermione, emerged from the fireplace.

His two friends didn't spare a single glance to their majestic surroundings, they only had eyes for him. "Harry!" Hermione practically squealed, rushing over to no doubt envelope him in a crushing embrace, as was her wont.

She slowed as she took in the crutches, carefully indulging in a far less energetic, but no less loving, greeting.

Ron reached the other two in a few long strides, gently encircling them both in his gangly arms. Emotions very close to the surface, Ron pulled back and told him, "It's very good to see you, mate. You had us worried."

"I was concerned about the two of you as well," Harry revealed softly. He wanted to examine them from every angle, reassure himself that they were truly whole and unharmed. He didn't realize what a heavy weight the uncertainty had been until it was lifted. Harry was getting ready to inquire about the rest of their classmates, since he was sure Ron and Hermione had more information than he did, as isolated as he had been, when a voice echoed harshly across the hall.

"What are you doing in here?" Harry couldn't help but think as the figure stalked toward them in obvious outrage that it was extremely fortunate that the muggle hadn't happened upon them as Ron and Hermione had come through the floo. "The building closed an hour ago! I am calling the police. I don't know how you managed to evade the guards' patrols, but you are trespassing, and I will see to it personally that you are punished!" The middle-aged man's voice rose with each word. Indeed, by the end of his declaration, his cheeks were flushed with anger, and he seemed inclined to try and throttle them for their misbehavior. For Harry, it was eerily similar to his Uncle Vernon on a tirade, which had never ended well for him. Belatedly, he realized both Ron and Hermione had stepped in front of him, presumably to protect him from whatever this person had planned for them. It was touching, though unnecessary.

Just as he was preparing himself to address the situation with the overzealous docent, or whomever the man was, Remus stepped forward from the shadows, seeming to appear out of nowhere. "Mr. Turner, isn't it?" The werewolf's tone was cutting. He saw Ron smile in his peripheral vision; it was the kind of look he imagined his red-headed friend wore when one of his siblings was about to receive a tongue lashing from Mrs. Weasley.

"And who might you be?" Turner blustered.

"Remus Lupin, I believe we spoke on the phone?"

Mr. Turner faltered slightly before remembering what he had been in the process of confronting. "Mr. Lupin, I was about to contact the police. You see, I was doing one last walkthrough of the site, as I always do before I leave for the evening, when I found these hooligans in here stealing or desecrating God only knows what!" He spat the last statement, having fully re-ignited his earlier indignation.

The smile Lupin gave the man was surely as feral as any expression Moony had ever worn. "I don't think that will be necessary..."

"Now see here!" Turner interrupted.

Before the man could continue his bellicose speech, Remus interjected, "I believe introductions are in order." His delivery sharp and smooth, like a knife between the ribs. "May I present, His Grace, Harry James Potter, and his companions, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. This is Mr. Kevin Turner." That he was almost assuredly soon-to-be the former chief of the castle guides went unsaid. In the silence that followed the announcement, one could have heard a pin drop.

Taking pity on the man, Harry observed lightly, "It is heartening to see how seriously you take your duties, Mr. Turner."

Mortified beyond measure, Kevin Turner could only choke out, "Thank you, Your Grace."

"If that is all?" Remus couldn't help but twist the knife. "I believe the Duke intended to visit with his friends in the library this evening. I assure you the castle staff are aware His Grace is in residence, but if you wouldn't mind alerting any remaining touring personnel on your way out, that would be much appreciated. I would hate to have another incident like this tonight."

"O..of course, Mr. Lupin." With that, he bowed his head to the others and scurried to the exit. He vowed to start composing his resignation letter after a few pints.

Ron laughed, which made Harry frown, especially when he heard Remus join him. "That was mean!" He chided them.

"Harry, the man threatened you and called you a thieving hooligan in your own house!"

"True, but he was only doing what he considers his job," he countered.

"Well, he needn't worry about those obligations any longer, I should think."

"Remus, you can't fire him for this!"

"We most certainly can, and should," he held up a hand to stop further protests. "But not for the reasons I think you are assuming; hear me out. Did he seem like someone who was good with the public to you?"

"Probably not," Harry admitted.

"Didn't he seem more likely to be someone who bullies tourists, rips their cameras from their hands when they take unauthorized photographs, and generally abuses his authority in dealings with his subordinates...or anyone he views as an inferior, which is likely nearly everyone?"

"Maybe...but we should confirm all that before firing him on what could be a completely unfounded characterization."

"Deal. I'll talk to the other staff, both domestic and tourist, and we will talk through the findings before I take any action."

"Thank you," Harry replied.

"Harry, I suspect he'll submit his resignation after all this," Hermione cautioned softly. Ron nodded in agreement, not entirely able to keep the smirk off his face. Harry immediately knew his friend had slotted Mr. Turner in the same category he put people like Draco Malfoy.

To see the world in such black and white terms...Harry had cured himself of that affliction, quite rampant in the lions' tower, years ago. "That's his choice, of course," was his only comment.

"Shall I have a tea service sent to the library?"

"If it isn't too much trouble," Harry said, noting how Ron perked up at the prospect.

Remus snorted, "Harry, the castle staff are like all the enchanted dishes in that cartoon that came out a few years ago..."

"Beauty and the Beast," supplied Hermione, without missing a beat.

"That's the one," Remus confirmed, nodding at her in thanks. "They are so excited to meet you, to serve you in any capacity; it will literally make someone's week if I ask them to bring refreshments to you."

"If you are sure," Harry agreed hesitantly, "but please let them know there is no rush if they are busy with other things." He turned to his friends. They both seemed as happy as he was about having the opportunity to catch up. They had spent a good portion of the last seven years living out of each others' robe pockets; it was strange not seeing each other for weeks on end, even in the summers. "How long can you stay? I feel like we have loads to talk about."

"We can stay as long as you like, Harry. My parents know where we are, and Ron's family knows he's with me."

"That settles it then, I'll tell them we have two more for dinner," Remus announced.

The trio made slow progress through the historic house. "This is some place, Harry! Almost like your very own Hogwarts." Harry was relieved not to detect even a hint of jealousy.

"I haven't seen much of it yet," Harry told them as they passed a formal dining room done in blue on the right in which Hermione thought they might eat; one of the grandest stair cases she had ever laid eyes on to their left; and a drawing room that looked to be some kind of homage to heraldry, also on the left, before turning a corner. "The Goblins only finished re-weaving and updating the wards two days ago."

She noticed Ron was walking very closely to Harry, poised to give aid, if required. The two of them had certainly talked about how long it took for injuries to heal in the muggle world, so she knew Ron understood, but she wasn't naive enough to think that one conversation would enable him to see past a lifetime of nearly immediate healing. Plus, she could hardly blame Ron for hovering, Harry looked terrible. He had always been too thin, but this was on another level. Reminding herself that it had not even been a full month since the confrontation with Voldemort helped to calm her fears slightly, but still.

Harry halted the procession. "This is my favorite room of the ones I've seen so far," he said, "It reminds me a bit of the Gryffindor common room." At his gesture, Hermione went in ahead of him, while Ron hung back to make sure their friend didn't get tripped up on the carpet.

It was a library! A magnificent library with red and gold striped flooring and carved Honduras Mahogany as far as the eye could see. It was clearly in the Gothic revival style, like several of the other areas they had seen en route, with its series of arches framed in red Norfolk plush. It was a feast for the eyes in other ways as well, with vases and globes, stained glass, and shining brass lattice work protecting thousands and thousands of books. She was sure the Potter family library contained many rare volumes!

"Remus said we can ignore the cordons," Harry informed them nervously, "but I would suggest casting some strengthening and repairing charms on the furniture since most of it dates to the 19th century. My many greats grandfather, Charles, commissioned much of this for Queen Victoria's visit in 1846, according to the guide book."

The three friends settled in a cozy seating area, with two red couches and numerous chairs in a similar color scheme centered around a large hexagonal table. Ron and Hermione opted for the sofas, while Harry selected a sturdy, high-backed chair situated between them; it conveniently sported a low red footstool at its base. After dutifully casting the requisite charms, his friends grabbed him under his arms and helped lower him into the seat. "Thanks," he said, slightly breathless.

"No problem," Ron waved off his gratitude. The act had been more for Ron's benefit than Harry's anyway. He wasn't used to seeing his friend appear so fragile; it brought out a nurturing side of him that had only reared its head occasionally over the years, typically when Harry had managed to get himself caught up in something, though his younger sister had been subject to it, too, especially after the disaster of her first year.

"I got my N.E.W.T. results yesterday!" Hermione blurted out as if it had been paining her to contain it...which knowing her the way they both did, probably wasn't too far off the mark.

"Mine came as well," Harry said.

"Same," Ron admitted, more glumly than the other two.

Before they could discuss their respective results, a woman only a few years older than the trio arrived with a cart bearing an elaborate silver tea service complete with a multi-tiered tray boasting strawberries dipped in chocolate, fruit tarts, and a variety of cakes and sandwiches. It was really too much given how close it was to dinner, but the thought was much appreciated. The woman herself was wearing a stereotypical ensemble: a black dress with a white collar under a long white apron. She even wore a small white cap to complete the look. It was as if a parlour maid from a Jane Austen novel had come to life. "Your Grace," she greeted Harry with a curtsy and began setting up the cups and saucers in which to pour the tea. "Mr. Lupin asked me to inform you that he would come to escort you and your party to dinner at 8:00pm."

"Thank you. May I have the honor of your name?"

She blushed to the roots of her strawberry blonde hair, but replied in a clear voice, "Mary Douglas, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Mary, I believe we are all set." She curtsied again and left the room.

"Hopefully I can get them all to relax a bit," Harry told his friends.

"Good luck with that, Your Grace," Ron teased.

Harry took out his wand and cast a privacy charm around them, explaining, "I have no idea what percentage of the people who work here are magical or know about magic." After tucking it securely back up his sleeve, he said, "We were discussing our exams, I think. You first, Hermione."

She had just taken a large bite of macaroon, so it took her a second to reply. Harry nibbled on one of the tarts while they waited. "I received a N.E.W.T. in every subject I sat, but two were only Exceeds Expectations." She sounded a bit disappointed.

Talking with his mouth full, Ron asked, "So that means what, like 7 Outstandings?"

"Six," she corrected. "I got an EE in DADA and Herbology."

"Well done!" Harry praised, sipping his tea. "What about you, Ron?"

"I got six N.E.W.T.s, but three of them were only Acceptables. I did earn Exceeds Expectations for my Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, and Defense tests, though." He popped one of the sandwich rounds into his mouth. "I don't know how that is going to affect my entrance into the Academy, because we're supposed to have 5 tests at EE or above. I wasn't surprised by Potions, but I can't believe I only got an A in transfiguration...what if they don't let me in?"

Hermione had to bite back a remark about the fact that he had unwisely spent the evening before their Transfiguration N.E.W.T. playing chess with a fourth year student, since it wasn't going to help anyone to mention it at this point and would likely anger him. While Hermione was still casting about for something constructive to say, Harry jumped in. "You got six N.E.W.T.s total, which is more than they require...and you were amazing in Hogsmeade, which has to count for something. It proves you can deliver under pressure...a very valuable skill which can't be measured through exams alone."

"That's true," Ron conceded, but he didn't sound entirely convinced. "When do you think we'll find out?"

"It's bound to be soon, seeing as we were originally supposed to receive our preliminary admissions decisions a month ago," Harry surmised.

"They must have decided to wait until exam results were published once everything was delayed," Hermione hypothesized. Pausing to pour more tea, Hermione set the urn on the table and prompted, "Go on then, Harry- what were your results?"

"I was awarded 8 N.E.W.T.s, like you, also with 6 Outstandings and 2 Exceeds Expectations. My EEs were Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology."

"You got an O in Potions!" Hermione sounded very happy for him. She knew Harry had spent a lot of time studying for that exam, almost twice as much as he had for any other subject.

"I can't believe you got an O in Divination, Harry." Ron seemed to find it pretty amusing. "And I can't believe my two best friends are such swots! I mean, Hermione, sure...but Harry, what happened to you?"

"Blame Remus," Harry joked.

"On the subject of Divination..." Hermione began, shyly, as if expecting to be shut down. "I have been trying to figure out what the rest of Trelawney's prophecy meant."

"Why?" Ron asked. "I mean it all worked out okay in the end, didn't it?"

Harry went very pale. "You don't think...there isn't still...It was fulfilled, wasn't it?" He barely noticed when Hermione kicked Ron in the shin, hard.

"Ow," he scowled at her as he rubbed his leg. She glared right back, knowing some incredibly insensitive comment about Harry being the one who should know since he was the only one of them with a Divination N.E.W.T. had been on the tip of his tongue.

"I think so, Harry," she reassured him. But, based on your letters, it seems like only you can fill in a few of the gaps."

"Okay," he said numbly. It was hard for him to breathe. He nearly dropped his cup on the floor before Ron demonstrated some impressive quidditch reflexes and grabbed it before he could spill.

The boys eyed her incredulously when she pulled out a small notebook and pen that she had kept tucked somewhere on her person. The witch had obviously come prepared for this discussion. Without further preamble, Hermione began, "According to the first verse, Voldemort made three 'crux.'"

Harry cut her off, "Remus told me they are called Horcruxes, and they are precisely what you might imagine based on our experience with the diary; pieces of soul, broken off in ritual and stored, for lack of a better word, in a 'vessel,' which the literature says has to be an inanimate object. However, Tom always was an overachiever."

Ron summarized, "So, the diary was the first, which was destroyed by the basilisk venom."

Hermione eyed Harry worriedly as he explained the next bit to Ron, who hadn't realized the horrible truth the night he had put on the ring. "Somehow, and I can't believe it was deliberate or that he was aware given how regularly he tried to kill me, Voldemort left a piece of his soul in me, in my scar. Luckily, the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows, destroyed it, while leaving me relatively unharmed. Death doesn't take too kindly to people trying to evade Him, so naturally His Hallow would be capable of overpowering any of Voldemort's instruments of immortality.

Ron looked ill. "But it's gone now, right?"

"Yes," Harry replied simply.

"Can you still speak to snakes, Harry?" Hermione asked, curiously, before berating herself. This really wasn't the time.

"I don't know, I haven't tried since before. But, he and I both descend from the Slytherin line, according to the Goblins, just via a different branch."

Nodding, because that did make sense, she resumed her analysis. "The final...horcrux was Voldemort's snake. Neville, which does literally translate to 'New Village' beheaded it...blew it up really, as I understand it, just as they arrived in Hogsmeade," Hermione told them.

"Gross," Ron said, though he seemed pretty impressed with Neville's accomplishment. Boys.

"The magical afflux was whatever spell you used at the end against the Dark Lord, Harry...the white light."

"You could see that?" Harry questioned, clearly surprised.

"Mate, everyone in the village saw it, probably at the school too."

"What spell was it?" Hermione sounded as though she had been trying unsuccessfully to puzzle it out for weeks.

"It wasn't so much a spell as the equivalent of wishing on a shooting star. It was desperation, determination, and as much raw power as I could pour into it. I couldn't let him and his dementors hurt innocent people, but I knew I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. At that point, I was hurt pretty badly and had already been hit with the killing curse besides. It was my last chance to stop him."

No one said anything for several minutes. Because really, what could you say to that? Although it certainly explained most of the rest of the prophecy. Tentatively, Hermione picked up the threads of their discussion; she clearly wasn't going to let it go until they had seen it all the way through. "How did you hallow yourself in the Hallows?"

"I wore the the ring on my finger and the cloak under my clothes, almost like armor; I had the wand on my wrist. When I met Death..." and that was still the weirdest thing to say out loud, "I was er...naked except for those three items. He did eventually conjure me a robe, though." He had already told them some of this in the letters he sent, but he could see by the looks on their faces that they had believed his ramblings had been largely drug induced.

Ron brought them across the finish line, "You um..passed beyond the veil after being hit by the killing curse and then dispatched Voldemort as well as several of his random soul pieces with your white light spell, which also eliminated loads of dementors. Oh, and because of all that magic released, your back and everything have had to heal the muggle way."

"I do think that covers the whole prophecy. It is completely fulfilled."

"Good," And Harry did seem relieved. Pulling the bandaid on another uncomfortable topic, he said, "I have been wanting to ask...did we lose anyone?"

"A few," Hermione admitted, tearing up. "Ernie MacMillan didn't make it. And, well, Crabbe and Goyle, as you know. There hasn't been too much in the Prophet to be honest, but I know a few aurors were also killed along with most of the Death Eaters. The paper is saying that a rogue Auror team murdered everyone they had in custody."

"I don't think that's what happened," Harry said softly. "I think when Voldemort was dying, he tried to use the Dark Marks on his followers somehow to...deflect or re-direct what was coming at him. I think he regularly siphoned power from them, but at Hogsmeade, he tried to feed power back into them. But, it didn't work...and it killed them all."

"Good riddance," Ron pronounced with surprising vehemence. "What about Snape though, I know he lived?"

"Maybe it was because he wasn't loyal to Voldemort or maybe it was because of some measure Dumbledore had taken so the Dark Lord couldn't kill him through the mark should he have been discovered to be a spy," Harry suggested. He didn't share his other theory about Fate with them, since he suspected they already thought he was a little crazy.

"Harry, you should probably tell the Ministry your theory. According to the Prophet, they've practically torn the corps apart looking for the culprits."

"I'll talk to Tonks," he promised. "She and Remus have been spending a lot of time together lately, so I've seen her quite a bit."

The three of them were still reeling from the succession of heavy topics they'd discussed. Acting on his self-appointed role, Ron tried to lighten the mood. "So Remus and Tonks, eh?" he asked, with an exaggerated leer, "I wonder what that's like..."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean...Ow!" Hermione had kicked him again. "That is going to bruise, you know!"

"Good! Maybe it will help remind you to think before you speak," Hermione retorted.

"Hermione, violence is never the answer," Ron deadpanned. Naturally, this broke the remaining tension, as intended.

Seconds later, Harry felt Remus step through their privacy ward, which he quickly lowered. "I've come to fetch you for dinner." He eyed the remains of the tea service. "If you have left any room, that is..."

"I accept your challenge," Ron teased, causing both Harry and Hermione to shake their heads at his antics.

"Remember, Hermione...he's a growing boy."

She eyed his stomach, in jest, "I can see that."

"Oy!"

**************************

27 July - Arundel Castle - West Sussex- 3:00pm

It had taken several days, a parliament of owls, and a 20 minute floo conversation to organize the next set of visitors. Daphne Greengrass had required a suitable chaperone, as her parents would not permit her to call on an unmarried male without one. It was terribly old fashioned, but not uncommon.

In the end, they had elected to combine the Longbottoms' visit with Daphne's. The Dowager Countess agreed to provide supervision, as a widowed female of more than sufficient age and rank, with the understanding that Andi would be on hand later in the afternoon should the need arise. Harry was also of the firm belief that the more Slytherin cunning they could get to help them assess the Dumbledore situation the better, so he had advocated heavily for Daphne's stay to extend to the planned dinner, provided her schedule could accommodate it.

Harry and Remus had been incredibly busy over the past several days finalizing and sending the invitations to his birthday party, enlisting all three Tonkses as well as Ron and Hermione in the endeavor. Despite Harry's misgivings, the party was turning into one of the social events of the season. He had started by inviting friends, housemates, members of their Defense Association, and even some professors and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Since it was only polite to invite everyone's families as well, the list of attendees had grown very large and soon also included a few prospective political allies. Thus, the event would be hosted in the castle's Great Hall, or Barrons Hall, as Andi and Remus had predicted. He knew Andromeda was still toiling away on the menu and entertainment as the date approached since she did occasionally ask him for his preferences. He found himself both looking forward to his party and eager for it to be over. He really did hope to maintain a lower profile in the future.

Neville arrived first, stumbling slightly as he exited the fireplace, completely unselfconscious in his extremely formal robes. Harry's crash course in armorial bearings enabled him to pick out the subtle incorporation of the colors and symbolism of the Longbottom Coat of Arms in the ensemble. It made Harry glad that Remus had insisted he too "dress for dinner," as it were, though his own robes weren't as fine. The one positive outcome of his convalescence had been a reprieve from the endless shopping and fittings required to "outfit him according to his station." It was clearly more sensible to wait until he no longer had to wear the brace to obtain a new wardrobe; he knew Remus hoped he would be able to attain a healthier weight in the interim as well. Harry was just glad his chosen career had uniforms, as they seemed to be far less hassle.

Neville's face erupted into a bright smile as his eyes lit upon Harry; his features were mature and chiseled, and his form was broad and powerful. No trace of the chubby, round-faced boy remained. Harry couldn't help but think that, unlike him, his friend's metamorphosis was complete. Neville had emerged from his chrysalis a majestic butterfly. He bowed respectfully to the Lord of the castle, as his gran would expect of him, before breaking form entirely and engulfing Harry in a brotherly embrace. "Hermione told me you were well...relatively speaking," he added with a frown. "Merlin, Harry, I can't believe he is finally gone. You did it!"

"We did it, Neville," chided Harry. "Hermione told me that you...'blew up' I believe were her exact words, Voldemort's snake. If you hadn't, I don't believe the outcome of the final confrontation would have been as favorable." Harry couldn't stop the shudder that wracked his body. He reminded himself for at least the hundredth time over the last month that the mad man was dead, and it was truly over.

"How's that?" Inquired Neville, puzzled.

"I'll explain everything once Daphne arrives," Harry promised. "But, what's this I hear about you and Millicent Bulstrode?"

"You know about that?" Squawked Neville, reminding Harry of the wizard in his awkward pre-teen years for the first time in a while.

"News travels fast, my friend. If Ron is to be believed, wedding bells are just over the horizon," he teased.

"What?!" Neville looked momentarily faint. "We've only gone out a few times - in the company of other people," he added hastily, lest Harry get the wrong impression of him or Millie. Harry's muggle-raised sensibilities obviously saw nothing untoward about a few dates.

"Do you like her?"

"I do," the sandy-haired wizard admitted easily. "She's fun to be around, and we have quite a bit in common. She's definitely nothing like most of those witches my family has introduced to me since 6th year."

"That sounds like a good thing?" Harry asked, encouragingly.

"Yes...a delicate heiress isn't really...I mean our family motto is 'Work Conquers All.' My future Countess needs to be willing to get her hands dirty." He blushed at how that statement could be taken, though this was Harry, not Seamus, so he was probably in the clear.

"I can see it now," Harry joked, "You and Millie having a romantic evening in the greenhouses repotting mandrakes or some such...wearing matching earmuffs emblazoned with your family crest." Yes. Most definitely in the clear, not that Neville found that visual off-putting in the slightest.

Remus had just entered the hall, smiling as he observed Harry and Neville carrying on an animated conversation; his thoughts about the Longbottom Heir closely mirroring Harry's from earlier. The boy had really come a long way since his 3rd year, when Severus Snape had been his greatest fear. Both young men were still chuckling when Remus made his presence known.

Just a few minutes later, Neville's grandmother stepped gracefully out of the fireplace. Neville quickly offered her his arm in order to escort her the few steps to Harry and their former Professor and make formal introductions. The raven-haired wizard was grateful when the venerable Augusta Longbottom only offered her hand for Remus to kiss in greeting, as he wasn't sure he would have been able to manage. Harry had been working on weaning himself off the forearm crutches, and he was optimistic that he would need only a single crutch or walking stick soon. Unfortunately, however, at present, his balance was still off, and the last thing he needed at this point was a bad fall.

As they waited for the last of their party to arrive, Augusta looked around the hall, which - now that it would be closed to the public until after Harry's birthday - was beginning to show signs of the impending event. Taking in her appraisal, Harry was suddenly struck with a wave of guilt so strong that his discomfiture was immediately obvious to his companions. Mistaking the cause, Remus made to secure a chair, but Harry stopped him. "I'm fine, my apologies." Neville looked alarmed. Reigning his wayward thoughts back behind his shields, he imagined Daphne scolding him for his poor poker face. It had just occurred to him that with Neville's birthday being so close to his own, this party would likely deny Neville and his family the opportunity to publicly celebrate the other wizard's coming of age. It didn't seem fair and had certainly never been Harry's intent.

The Dowager Countess turned to Remus then and said something that brought Harry unexpected relief. "You and Mrs. Tonks will have to give me some tips when we hold something similar for Neville on his 21st birthday, per our family's traditions." He didn't know if it had been a coincidence or not, since he couldn't imagine that Neville's Gran was familiar enough with him to have so quickly ascertained the source of his distress, not when even Remus remained ignorant, but her words were nonetheless a welcome balm.

The silence was just beginning to get uncomfortable when Daphne Greengrass finally arrived. "My Lord," she acknowledged Harry first, as was right, given he was both the host and the most senior peer present. She looked absolutely stunning in a modest, but surprisingly fitted, blue floor-length dress and royal blue over-robe which pooled elegantly at her feet. There was lace detailing on the bodice, and the color matched her eyes perfectly. She greeted Neville and his gran next and finally Remus, "Professor."

"Ms. Greengrass," Remus inclined his head in return. Moving to face the others, he announced. "If you all would follow me to the Drawing Room, please." Now the plotting could begin.

"This is a lovely home, My Lord," Daphne said quietly, admiration clear in her tone as they trekked past the the grand staircase.

"Thank you," replied Harry, blushing slightly. He wanted to say something to her about how nice she looked, but he couldn't think of how to phrase it so as to not come off sounding ridiculous. As Arundel's castellan led them into the castle's grand drawing room, he gestured for them all to take seats in front of the heraldic chimney piece.

They unobtrusively waited until Harry had situated himself in a hard-backed chair near the fireplace before arraying themselves on the various sofas and chairs positioned around a unique upholstered octagonal coffee table which complemented the Persian rug on the floor. Daphne was enchanted. The room was a riot of color, with mundane portraits and ornate furniture lining every wall. Tea was served with impressive efficiency by two impeccably dressed footmen. Once everyone was settled, Remus chivvied the staff out of the room and requested Harry cast a few spells to keep the conversation that would follow as private as possible.

The weight of the wards was briefly tangible, and Daphne felt Harry's magic dance across her skin as it had during their entrance exams. The thought brought her a momentary pang. She had been taken aback by the extent of Harry's injuries when she had arrived, though she had of course hidden it well. She couldn't imagine Harry Potter not becoming an auror, but she was concerned about whether he would be well enough to do so.

"Lady Longbottom," began Remus.

"Call me, Augusta, dear," the formidable brown-eyed matriarch said in a tone that made it apparent that it was not a request. "That goes for all of you," she announced. "I understand we are working to foil some plan of the Chief...Warlock. I shan't have my co-conspirators caught up in excessive formalities."

Just as Harry was about to heartily second that motion, Neville leaned over and whispered, "At home she usually refers to him as Supreme Wanker, Head Tosser or Chief Arsemonger," which nearly caused Harry to break into laughter.

Biting his lip, Harry managed to suppress his reaction before quickly speaking up, lest the opportunity pass him by, "I would also respectfully request that everyone call me Harry." They all more or less agreed.

Remus began their tale, briefly covering some of Dumbledore's more significant transgressions through the years, starting with the fact that he had left an orphaned baby who he knew had been hit by the killing curse on a doorstep overnight in late October like a bottle of milk...the doorstep of people his parents' had not named as potential guardians in their will no less. Andromeda slipped in when Daphne and Neville were providing amplifying information about first Quirrell and then the string of petrifications in their second year. Harry remained silent, and Augusta's expression became increasingly stony.

"Do you know why the Potters' will wasn't read at their death?" She asked finally, because she thought if she were to dwell any more on the danger that Neville had obviously been in throughout his school years due to Dumbledore's machinations she would propose they save themselves the trouble and just plot his murder.

"No," Remus responded, "Though the Goblins implied that the Ministry had sealed the will in 1981 and therefore only Harry, or presumably his solicitors, could request it be read, which he did two years ago."

"Which firm represents the House of Potter? Whoever they are you should fire them, and tell them they should be grateful you aren't trying to have them disbarred...and drawn and quartered for their negligence."

"I like you," Daphne said with a very Slytherin smile. "Lady Longbottom, do you by chance know my mother?"

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, no." She said, thinking for a minute. "I know your father well enough to say hello if we see each other on the Alley, but that's all."

"Please allow me to introduce you at a later time, I believe you will get along famously."

Andromeda answered the lingering question, "House Potter's lawyers were dismissed a few months before James and Lily were killed, perhaps around the time they made arrangements to go into hiding, according to the records I have been able to uncover. The pattern is suspiciously similar to what happened with House Black's legal representation after Arcturus' death, though I had always credited that decision to Walburga's particular blend of vindictiveness and insanity."

"Who represents you now, Harry?"

"We've used a few individuals for specific tasks, but I haven't yet selected someone to put on retainer," he replied quietly.

Daphne made a note to talk to her father, and the Dowager Countess pulled a card out of her bag and handed it to Remus. "I've used them for more than 50 years," she told the others. "My late husband Alexander hired them just after the war with Grindelwald to help settle the estate."

"Thank you," Harry told her sincerely. Then, since he had the floor, he continued, "It goes without saying that the Headmaster has made some very questionable decisions concerning both me and the school in recent years, but I think most of that can be attributed in some misguided way to an ardent desire to see Voldemort defeated and a misplaced belief that he was best positioned to both know and orchestrate the events required to deliver that outcome." Harry paused to take a sip of tea and steady himself. "As Voldemort was ultimately defeated, I am inclined to look past these transgressions, at least the ones committed against me personally. I understand that others may not feel the same and would certainly never begrudge anyone seeking their own justice. However, I cannot see my way to giving the same benefit of the doubt to certain actions that the Headmaster took following Voldemort's defeat. He insisted I return to the Dursleys until my birthday." This pronouncement clearly shocked Daphne and the Longbottoms. "Now, I don't doubt that he may have been partially motivated by the reasons he offered when questioned about his decision, namely my continued protection and theirs from any rogue Death Eater elements still running around, but it seems there may be other factors in play here, which is why we wanted to talk to all of you."

Remus looked apologetically at Harry as he revealed to the assembled guests, "When I confronted Dumbledore after Hogsmeade about Harry's whereabouts, he refused to tell me anything and attempted to manipulate me into deferring to his judgment in the matter. Naturally, I refused, but without an inside source, I might not have been successful in retrieving Harry the day he arrived there. As you can see, he is still recovering, and I assure you he was in much worse shape three weeks ago. That house was in no way an appropriate place for him." Remus took a deep breath to reign in his temper, he was never going to forgive the old man for that, ever.

Andromeda picked up the story, "Our best working hypothesis at this point is that he has been using one of his lackeys to do his bidding from the Potter seat for all these years, and there is something on the agenda for the Wizengamot's Lammas session on August 1st for which he needs the votes and the cache. Harry will be eligible to vote his seats for that session; indeed, it will be expected. He is the last of his line, and our whole world knows he will have turned 18 the day before. The only way to prevent it would be to make him inaccessible, by trapping him in the muggle world behind oppressive wards, or to help ensure he is unable, by leaving him with entirely unsuitable guardians during a critical period in his recovery."

Augusta rose abruptly from the sofa, stalking around the room. "Remus, do you have any fire whiskey on hand?" She could be heard cursing Dumbledore in quite colorful terms...mingebag was the least profane pejorative that passed her lips. Daphne was delighted.

"Um, I think so," he approached a Georgian storage cabinet and tapped it with his wand. Inside were two bottles of Ogden's finest and several crystal tumblers and other assorted glassware. He poured two fingers before offering her the glass. They all watched as she took a long sip of the drink before sitting back down.

"Until 1986, a man known as Pelleas Birch was the Potter Proxy. He was appointed by Charlus when he and Dorea came down with Dragon Pox in the late '70s. As you know, they never recovered, and James was never sworn into the seat. Pelleas had served alongside Charlus and my Alex in the war, and I know they both thought very highly of him. Pelleas died in his sleep sometime after Imbolc but before Beltane that year. He had been cursed quite severely by Grindelwald himself in France in 1944, and I distinctly recall Alex commenting to me that he thought his friend looked unwell when he visited at Christmas. So, it wasn't a tremendous shock when he passed that Spring, though he died rather young for a wizard." She noted that her audience, even Neville, was riveted.

"The Potter seat was vacant for the Beltane session that year, but by Lammas, Elphias Doge, a grade-A certified Dumbledore Bootlicker, but unfortunately an eminently qualified one, had been appointed to serve. He has held the seat ever since."

"What do you think Dumbledore wants the votes for, Gran?"

"I don't think it is so much that he needs the votes," Augusta answered, "as it is that he doesn't want Harry to be voting in the session."

"What do you mean?" asked Andi.

"Of course!" Daphne exclaimed. "They are going to vote on whether or not to strip some of the families who served Lord Voldemort of their seats and then decide who will assume the seats of any they vote to remove."

Augusta eyed the pretty witch shrewdly and wondered if she could try and set the girl up with Neville. Merlin knew the boy needed a politically-minded woman to help him navigate the treacherous waters of the Wizengamot, just like his grandfather before him. It was something to keep in mind, certainly.

Andi, the other former Slytherin, immediately understood what Augusta had been implying. "Obviously, most members of the Wizengamot will vote however Harry votes on these matters, despite his age. After all, who better than a victim and the vanquisher of the Dark Lord to decide the fate of those families? Who would dare argue with the 'savior' if he decided a House was no longer capable of fulfilling its duties to the Wizengamot or that another should be installed in its place?" She seemed very intrigued by the kind of power that put in Harry's hands.

"The session on August 1st will decide the character and voting priorities of the Wizengamot for generations to come, and there is no way Albus Dumbledore is going to allow anyone to play a larger role than him in shaping our future. Plus, I am sure the idea of giving some families second chances through their heirs or cadet lines and denying that chance to others really appeals to his overgrown God complex," Augusta concluded snidely. She really did hate that condescending prick. Fairly or not, she put some of the blame on him for Frank and Alice's fate, for buying into that stupid prophecy so completely, for not helping protect those at risk better, and for not keeping his pet spy on a leash.

"So, what should we do?" Harry finally posed to the group.

Daphne was excited; this was going to be the most thrilling thing she had possibly ever done. "We need to make a list of all the families in the Wizengamot who could be affected by these votes." She turned to the elderly witch, "Augusta, did they publish a list?"

"They did not, I'm afraid."

Harry frowned, "So people are going to be walking in blind, not knowing whether they are in danger of losing their seats?"

Daphne cut in, "I imagine it is to try and curb the rampant bribery that is no doubt still happening as we speak. Regardless, My Lord, please don't feel bad for them; they willingly kissed the hem of that evil arsehole's robes...they deserve what's coming to them and then some. And, remember, it's people like them who make it nearly impossible for muggleborns like your friend Hermione to get beyond the secretarial pool in their respective Ministerial departments. Their time is over."

"Here, Here!" Cheered Augusta as she finished her fire whiskey.

"So, let's strategize about who might be affected, look at how involved in Voldemort's causes the next generation or other family members are, but also examine their voting records. If they have been voting for 20 years to perpetuate inequality on the basis of blood, then they are part of the problem, even if they didn't take the mark."

"Lady Longbottom, is it possible to get copies of people's voting records?" Harry asked, curious, knowing those things were a matter of public record in the muggle world.

"Yes, all members have a magical book that can pull up information about specific votes or topic-based trends. Your proxy has yours, but I don't think you should tip off the old goat. In fact, Remus, I think you should deliberately mislead him about Harry's plans so he doesn't try anything before the vote. And, I also want to see his face when you kick Doge out of your box."

"Or," Andi added with a feral grin, "He could sit in the Black box...I am sure Doge will be hilariously incriminating if he is called out in public."

Remus cut in, "Harry isn't going to be able to arrive unnoticed no matter where he sits, so your elaborate humiliation plots will have to remain in the realm of fantasy, ladies."

Neville shook his head, this was going to be interesting, and probably put his grandmother in a great mood for the better part of a year.

"Harry, I would really, really like to be in the gallery on Lammas. Do you think you can arrange that?"

"I will certainly try," Harry vowed, thinking about how much research he had ahead of him.

"So, now we have a coup, a revolution, and a birthday to plan in the next week, and I thought things would slow down after the war," said Andi.

"Please, don't pretend you are not like a Niffler in Scrooge McDuck's money pit right now," teased Remus, though only Andi herself and Harry understood his mixed metaphor.

They all felt more than saw Harry slice his wand through the wards to cancel them. Neville, Daphne, and Remus were rather used to the weight of his magic by this point, but both Andi and Augusta took notice. Before either of them could say anything, however, the butler approached, announcing, "Dinner is served."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: GrogMcLeod, PapillonMagique, and linuxrocs. Thank you for your comments! Thanks also to marfarma and GrogMcleod for the new kudos and marrymoody, JTurner1446, lilyflower010107, and GrogMcleod for the new bookmarks!
> 
> This fic utilizes real places and real titles, but no real people were the basis of any of the story. The intent is to treat all traditions with the utmost respect, but this all takes place in an imaginary and alternate universe. I own nothing.


	15. Birthday Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Additions made to chapter—Harry celebrates a birthday as the Seventh Month dies, Academy admissions decisions are delivered, and political intrigue is in the air. Daphne, Neville, Ron, Susan, Dean, Hermione and others make appearances, too. This is AU. Edited 10/1/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter take place on 31 July 1998 and immediately follow 'Summer of Love - Part 3. 
> 
> I apologize profusely for the delay in posting. The kids started back at school, and several members of my family are descending upon me due to a milestone birthday of my own this month, which has forced me to dedicate my free time cleaning and organizing instead of writing over the last two weeks. Hopefully you enjoy this semi-paltry offering anyway. The Wizengamot session will be up next.

~~Previously: They all felt more than saw Harry slice his wand through the wards to cancel them. Neville, Daphne, and Remus were rather used to the weight of his magic by this point, but both Andi and Augusta took notice. Before either of them could say anything, however, the butler approached, announcing, "Dinner is served."~~

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31 July 1998 - Hiraeth House - Monmouthshire, Wales - 3:12pm

The preparations for the party had reached a fever pitch over the last several days, and Andi had despaired of ever pulling it together in time. Nonetheless, the 18th anniversary of Harry's birth had finally arrived, and on today of all days, it was impossible not to reflect on the many times in his short life that he had been certain he wouldn't reach this milestone.

Harry fiddled with the duvet, at a loss for what to do with himself. Remus had sent him to his room about an hour ago for a quick rest before the evening's festivities, but he was too wound up to sleep. He and Remus would be departing for the castle shortly, though Andi was already on site to finalize the arrangements and see to any last minute details.

As she had brought her vision to life in the decor she suggested for the party and the ambiance she created in the Hall, Harry couldn't help but admire Andromeda's gift for understated elegance. Dora had joked that he must never tell her mother that directly lest she appoint herself his personal shopper for the rest of her days. "Mark my words, Harry," Tonks had warned, "if you aren't careful, she'll be purchasing your unmentionables and color-coordinating your stockings for you when you're thirty. You have to draw the line. I mean, she won't let me pick out my own formal wear to this day. Can you believe that?"

Given the stark contrast between Dora's shabby punk style and Andromeda's classic chic, he had not been at all surprised to learn that Mrs. Tonks still maintained the final say over her daughter's wardrobe choices in polite society. Naturally, he had not voiced that view to the metamorphmagus.

Harry studied the dress robes Andi had picked out for him for this evening, as they were hanging on the back of the door. They were similar to what he had worn to the Yule Ball in his 4th Year at Hogwarts, reminiscent of muggle white tie dress, but with splashes of emerald green in the formal black over-robe. He knew that despite how voluminous the fabric appeared, the robes were tailored to fit him well; Andromeda had made sure of it after seeing multiple photos of him swimming in his clothes from throughout his school years.

He eyed the cane he planned to use tonight, since according to Remus it would have been a perfectly acceptable accessory for full evening dress, even if he hadn't needed it. His was probably a bit less fashionable than the average aristocratic affectation, since it served an actual purpose, but he was hoping it wouldn't be too heavily remarked upon. He had tried to go without, but his left leg was still too weak and unreliable to risk it. And, if he was being totally honest with himself, he was already quite concerned about not having the other crutch available for balance. Still, in a room filled with other magicals, not all of whom he would know well, he wanted to be able to draw his wand unfettered should the need arise. Furthermore, for all that they planned to convince Dumbledore that Harry wasn't well enough and had no intentions of attending the Wizengamot session the next day by insinuating as much to anyone in attendance who the old warlock might conceivably pump for information, Harry didn't want anyone else to think he was too infirm to defend himself or his loved ones, no matter what he had been through in the last month.

It was a difficult balance to strike, to be sure, though Ted had reassured him that no one within his general vicinity while he was casting would believe him incapable of anything and that magic-resistant injuries weren't as uncommon as one might think. Remus had merely given him a look, saying, "Harry, you defeated Voldemort for Merlin's sake...no one would dare underestimate you at this point." Running his hand through his hair, which had no doubt left it even messier than it had been to start with, he decided it was time to get ready. Andromeda could probably use their help, even if he had recently learned that more than half the castle staff were witting of magic in some way and would therefore be on hand to assist and serve during the set up and at the party itself.

He managed to sit up and swing his legs over the side the bed, which was still more difficult than it should be. He grasped the aforementioned cane in his left hand and planted it on the ground before leveraging the sturdy night stand on his right to heave himself into a standing position. It was the perfect height, and he regularly used it in such a way. He wondered if Remus had set some kind of notification charm, because as soon as he gained his footing, his former professor entered the room.

"Couldn't sleep?" the werewolf asked, clearly sympathetic.

"Not really," Harry admitted.

"I have something for you out here," the older wizard said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.

Frowning, Harry followed, occasionally leaning on or bracing himself against the wall or pieces of furniture as he made his way to the sitting room. He remained standing as Remus brought out two packages. "I wanted you to open my presents first. I confess that, while I clearly refrained, I very nearly woke you up at the stroke of midnight to give them to you."

Harry smiled, thinking about his friends and first ever birthday presents as well as Hedwig's zealous efforts to deliver gifts at that same unsociable hour in the past. He vowed to visit her in the castle's owlery soon. She had appeared at Arundel the very day he had taken over the wards and had made her displeasure about being kept away from her wizard quite evident to everyone. She clearly held Remus responsible for the unsatisfactory state of affairs and made sure he knew it.

"Have a seat, then," Remus said, helping Harry into a chair. He could see signs of excitement in the warm eyes of his Godfather.

"You know me, both of these things are practical, but I hope you still like them."

"I am sure I will love them, Remus. But...you really didn't have to. I mean, with the party and staying with you this summer...I wasn't expecting anything else," the dark-haired wizard finished softly.

Remus chuckled and shook his head. "Your father would be dismayed to hear how much you genuinely mean that, and your mother would be very approving. In any case, I have been looking forward to giving you these things for some time now; so, go on...please don't keep me waiting."

Harry unwrapped the first gift, careful not to rip the paper, which appeared to show a quidditch match between the Tutshill Tornadoes and Caerphilly Catapults. He was so distracted by the sight of the snitch zooming over the spell-o-taped folds that it took him a moment to realize what he was holding. Two robes spilled out of the package and into his lap. One set was a deep plum color in an amazingly soft fabric that rippled like water and glittered faintly in the light. A silver W was embroidered on the left lapel. The second set was made of what he thought must be a type of wool, though it was the finest, warmest, and lightest material he had ever felt. These robes were black with gold piping and a purple lining. His family crests were displayed prominently on the front: the Potter shield over his heart and the Black shield on the right. "These are beautiful, Remus, thank you."

Confirming his suspicions, Remus informed Harry, "They are for the Wizengamot. The plum ones are for court sessions, of course. You'll wear the dark robes tomorrow; they are for regular meetings."

"Why purple?" Harry asked, curiously. He was surprised they weren't lined in red given the color scheme of his crests and the borderline obnoxious level of Gryffindor pride displayed by, well...every Gryffindor he knew, including Remus.

"Because you're the only one allowed to wear it," the older man replied. At Harry's puzzled look, he elaborated, "This particular shade is reserved for royalty, Harry, and for the last several centuries, only House Potter has been permitted to don it in the chamber. Andromeda suggested that a subtle reminder of your status in the body, despite your youth, would not be remiss." At the other wizard's blush, Remus sighed. "I know you don't enjoy these types of games, but they say politics is war without bloodshed, and I know for a fact that you can be quite the general when you want to be."

At a loss for what to say, Harry set the very expensive robes aside with care and began to open the second present. It was obviously a book, a worn leather-bound volume. When he turned it over, he saw it was an old Auror Field Training Manual. On the inside cover, there was an inscription:

"I thought I would deface this page before you took your quill to it, but know that what is done in love is well done. To my sweet and brave work-in-progress, you are stronger than you know. Forever yours, Lily"

"This was my dad's..." Harry said in disbelief, his fingers running reverently over the name embossed on the cover and his mother's message inside.

"When I was looking for a few items for the castle in your vaults, I noticed some trunks containing things that had been salvaged from the wreckage of Godric's Hollow. Even the odds and ends that were saved are largely ruined, but I saw James' manual and took it to a manuscript restoration expert I know. I had her repair as much of the damage as she could and re-bind it for you. James was a big fan of writing in his textbooks at school, and his musings were not limited to...scholarly observations, let's say, no matter how much the practice drove Lily insane. I think he used the Manual almost like a journal during his time at the academy, which I thought you would enjoy reading."

Harry wore what was perhaps the biggest smile Remus had ever seen on the younger man's face, and it simultaneously overjoyed him and broke his heart. Voice wavering slightly, Harry told Remus, "I do that too...my copies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Quidditch Through the Ages are filled with random thoughts from Ron and me. It drove Hermione a bit spare, although, I have seen her scribble notes in the margins of her books a time or two as well."

Remus laughed, that did seem like something Hermione would do. He nearly mentioned taking Harry to the bank some day to sift through those trunks before he thought better of it. Harry knew about them now, so he could decide for himself what he wanted to do with them and when he wanted to do it. No need to get even more maudlin on the kid's birthday. Instead, he asked, "Do you think you are about ready to head to Arundel?"

"Should we get dressed before or...?"

"Andromeda will kill me, slowly, if we get anything on our clothes, so, no. I think she intends for us to get ready just before the party kicks off, so there are hours of freedom yet to be had," he joked. "I am going to take our things through and then send Andromeda back for you," Remus explained.

Harry nodded in understanding. "I haven't had much of an opportunity to work on the shielding she mentioned, so I'll probably be thrown out of the fireplace like usual. I mean, I'll try uh...tamping down some to see if that helps, but I'm not..."

"It's okay, Harry. I'll catch you."

************************  
31 July 1998 - Greengrass Manor, Ipswich, Suffolk, England - 4:45pm

"Astoria, what are you wearing?!"

"Dress robes," the dark-haired teenager replied breezily.

"That is not what I brought back for you from Milan."

"Mother...that outfit looked like it might have been something that Dumbledore's grandmother wore...and would have been considered old fashioned even then!"

"Astoria, please! Marta Ferri is a genius. The robes she designed for you send exactly the message you want to communicate at this party. That you are a wealthy, demure young witch with excellent prospects."

"That impression will last precisely as long as it takes for her to open her mouth," Daphne declared sweetly as she glided down the main staircase, a vision in black and silver. The Turkish inspired gown and robes were exotic, so not just anyone would be able to carry them off as well as the former Slytherin.

"You look lovely, Daphne, as always," Agnes Greengrass praised. "Talk some sense into your sister, please."

"Mother, we both know that simply isn't possible," Daphne teased her younger sister, "but I will try to ensure she doesn't accompany us looking like a vagrant or a street walker."

"Hey!" Astoria protested, crossing her arms like a petulant child rather than the 16-year-old witch she was. Quickly recognizing that this was a fight she wouldn't win, she capitulated. "Fine, I'll change, but know that I am doing so under duress."

"Noted," her mother called after her retreating form. Turning to look her other daughter in the eye, she chided, "and you should be nicer to her."

"I'll try," Daphne promised with false sincerity.

Her father, Sebastian Greengrass, entered the room and asked his wife Agnes to knot his bow-tie. "People can always tell if I use a charm," he complained. "What was all that yelling about earlier?"

"Just Astoria being difficult about what she will be wearing this evening, but don't worry, she's come around."

Sebastian nodded as he straightened his robes, frowning a little at how tight they felt. Turning to his eldest daughter, he said, "So, Daphne...tell me about Lord Potter. I understand you know him rather well."

"I wouldn't say I know him extremely well, but I do consider him a friend," she replied.

Her mother soon decided to join the interrogation, "How exactly did the two of you manage to become acquainted at school? Lord Potter wasn't in Slytherin, was he?"

Daphne laughed aloud, "That would certainly have made the last seven years far more entertaining, as he doesn't have a Slytherin bone in his body. Lord Potter naturally sorted into Gryffindor, though he has a surprising number of disturbingly Hufflepuff tendencies now that I think about it." Her father made a face. "Now father, you know as well as I do that there are worse attributes to have than an over-developed sense of fair play."

She heard her father mutter, "barely," under his breath before she continued.

"As for how we met, Lord Potter has a prodigious talent in Defense Against the Dark Arts; spell casting in general, really." Her father snorted, and she shot him a look. "As you know, our Defense education at Hogwarts has been...uneven. During our O.W.L. year, one of his close friends in Gryffindor convinced him to start a Defense study group focusing primarily on the practical aspects of defensive and offensive magic, which had been severely lacking in the curriculum up to that point. I heard about the group through a Ravenclaw associate of mine and approached Lord Potter about participating. I had been willing to do almost anything to ensure I received the scores on my exams needed to join the Auror corps, even play nice with a bunch of Gryffindors. He granted permission for me and a few of my less ridiculous housemates to sit in. Lord Potter led the majority of these sessions himself, teaching the rest of us things like accurate and silent casting, ways to increase our shield strength, and even eventually how to perform the Patronus charm."

"He can produce a Patronus?" Her father asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Since he was 13," she confirmed, "and he was able to teach everyone in the group to cast at least a non-corporeal version, though several students managed a corporeal form before graduating."

"That's impressive."

"Indeed," Daphne agreed, because she did find Harry Potter to be incredibly impressive; it was hard not to. "Even though I think every member of the study group managed very high marks in Defense for both their O.W.L.s and subsequent N.E.W.T.s, the club was really preparing us for the coming conflict; giving us the tools to survive. Potter and I became even closer when we ended up on the same team during our Academy entrance exams, which were quite a revelation."

"What do you mean?" her mother inquired.

"Lord Potter is an exceptionally powerful wizard. You might think you know that, but trust me...even after years of classes together, I hadn't realized the extent of it until we fought side-by-side that day...and again in Hogsmeade. He set off the Ministry's T-meter twice the afternoon of our exam." Her father was now open mouthed, and her mother had drawn an audible breath at the pronouncement. "Seeing him in action was practically a religious experience," she concluded with a smirk.

"So, you're saying his reputation isn't just hype, then?"

"I can confidently say from my own direct experiences that his reputation in no way sufficiently captures the reality. He is exponentially more capable and powerful than anything said publicly about him would suggest, no matter how glowing. I have never encountered another wizard or witch like him, and that includes Chief Warlock Dumbledore," she confidently assessed for her family.

"That's high praise indeed coming from you, dear. Are you certain a scrying mirror is the right choice for a gift?" Agnes Greengrass sounded skeptical that a tool of Divination of all things would be welcome, though there was little time remaining to correct the error at this juncture.

"It is a beautiful artifact, and I know he'll be able to use it. Look at it this way, everyone else will be giving him clothes and books, maybe quidditch-related items... the mirror is unique. Furthermore, he is probably the kindest wizard I have ever met; we could give him a torn piece of parchment for his birthday, and he would genuinely appreciate the gesture." She paused for a moment to let that sink in. Then, hesitating briefly, since she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to expose Harry's vulnerabilities to her very Slytherin family, she dismissed her fleeting concerns and resumed her story. She knew her parents were good people who wouldn't take advantage of her trust or deliberately harm anyone who didn't deserve it. "I don't have much in the way of concrete evidence, but I don't think that Lord Potter's childhood was a pleasant one. I have long believed that whoever raised him after his parents died...did not treat him well," she finished, vaguely.

"Are you saying he was abused?" Her father sounded scandalized. The nature of parental Magical bonds and sympathetic Magics within shared bloodlines made that a far rarer phenomenon in the wizarding world than the mundane one.

"Have you ever seen him in person?" She asked, which seemed to frustrate her father, as he thought she was avoiding his question.

"No, I have not," he responded.

"Nor have I," echoed her mother.

"When you meet him tonight, you will understand my suspicions, even allowing for the fact that he is still recovering from his encounter with You-Know-Who."

"I heard the magic discharged during their confrontation was the stuff of legend. I assume they weren't able to use traditional healing methods? Someday I will ask to see a pensieve memory," her mother warned, the scholar she was in truth briefly overshadowing the debutante image she was currently projecting.

"How badly was he injured?" her father asked.

"I don't know all the details," she admitted, "but I know he broke several bones, including some in his back, and I think maybe one of his legs or a hip. I am sure there is more, as he still seemed to be unwell and in quite a bit of pain when I saw him last week." Her father, who she knew had once suffered a broken arm in a duel which had only been able to be healed without the aid of magic, looked highly sympathetic and faintly ill at her recitation.

Her mother, however, would not be deterred from her questioning, "Was that when you convinced him to arrange seating for us in the gallery at tomorrow's Wizengamot session?" The tone suggested clear amusement at Daphne's priorities.

"Yes," she replied, not revealing even a hint of the potentially revolutionary plans she had helped develop. Her parents needed a little more excitement in their lives in her estimation, the shock would do them good.

Astoria barreled down the stairs just then with her usual grace, which was to say - none. Sometimes Daphne couldn't believe they were related. "I'm ready," she declared, obviously working her way up to a good sulk.

"You look beautiful, darling," her mother pronounced. And, she did. If one didn't know what a trial Astoria could be, they would never be able to guess it by her appearance alone, at least this evening. She looked like an angel...the epitome of enticing innocence and good breeding, though nothing could be further from the truth. Astoria had been appropriately sorted into Slytherin, but her ambitions were far from lofty. Worse, her relentless pursuit of her goals often reeked of Gryffindor bloody-mindedness or Hufflepuff desperation, though Daphne sometimes suspected those instances were merely a game within a game for her sister. The witch had layers, that was certain, and tonight their mother had even managed to get her to wear a few. No one would suspect from her current attire that Astoria likely deserved her own trophy for special services to the school.

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31 July 1998 - Arundel Castle - West Sussex- 6:20 pm

"The guests will begin arriving in about a half an hour," Andi predicted, looking gorgeous in green as she checked each of the tables carefully, making minute adjustments to centerpieces and name placards as she walked along the main aisle.

"Do you need me to do anything?" Harry asked, feeling guilty about how much work she had put into this on his behalf and amazed at the results. The Hall had been beautiful before, but now, not to be too cliche, it looked truly magical.

"My Lord, if you would cast a few charms over the area to ensure no fights break out and that everyone enjoys themselves, that would be appreciated."

"Uh...which ones, exactly?" He asked, embarrassed. His repertoire of mood charms was quite limited.

"I was thinking quietus," she said looking to Remus and Ted for their thoughts.

Her husband shook his head, "Better go with a more basic pacifier; a wizard of Harry's power casting a quietus over an area even this size will have everyone falling asleep in their soup courses."

She nodded in thanks; that could have been disastrous. Thinking carefully, she proposed, "What about amicabilis to smooth over everyone's social interactions?"

Remus weighed in this time, "That seems...safer than the typical festivus or ludicrum in this scenario."

Harry decided he would be able to concentrate better on casting if he sat, so he eased himself into what only a few hours ago had been a horrible, throne-like monstrosity which Andi had insisted was suitable for the occasion. His own preferences had won out in this instance, thankfully, and now it looked exactly like every other chair in the hall, though it carried perhaps a few extra comfort charms. Focusing intently on the desired results of the spells, he unleashed his magic. Ted smiled, Andi relaxed as her remaining stress melted away, and Remus' inner wolf curled up like a sleepy puppy and retreated further than it ever had. They all stood there dazed for several minutes before Andi finally snapped out of her calm euphoria and brought Dora over to Harry. "In about...15 minutes," she said, after casting a tempus spell, "I want the two of you to stand just to the right of the fireplace to greet anyone who floos in. The first portkey is set to arrive at 6:58, just outside the Hall. The footmen will take and tag any outer garments and gifts and escort the guests to their places. For security reasons, there are only three portkeys cleared to come through the wards tonight, and Remus keyed them to magical signatures with the help of the Goblins.

"Speaking of, do you think King Ragnuk will come this evening?" Harry asked her.

"I don't know, My Lord; he may send a representative. I am certain he will appreciate the invitation in the spirit in which it was intended, regardless," she assured him.

About 10 minutes later, anyone watching the guest of honor would assume Harry was serving as a gentlemanly escort to the junior Auror at his side, but in reality, it was quite the opposite. He found himself leaning rather heavily on Dora as they made their way to the position to which Andi had directed them. "Are you alright?" She asked him; he seemed worried.

"Yeah, I'm just not one for crowds, usually," he explained. "What about you? Is this too much?" he inquired, indicating their joined arms with a glance.

"I've got you Har-bear, don't worry," she replied with a grin. "Really, Harry, I am not supporting much of your weight, just steadying you. Any of your little witch or wizard friends should be able to help you out like this tonight," she added with a wink. He stumbled at her words, and they both almost went down.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, blushing, heart beating rapidly at the near catastrophe. Remus turned sharply in their direction, but Harry waved him off.

Looking horrified, Tonks gripped his arm much tighter than before, seeming for a second as though she might cry. "Merlin, are you okay, Harry?" When he nodded, they resumed their journey at an even slower pace. "It's these damn shoes," she finally said, still far too sober compared to her typical exuberance.

Mere seconds after they reached their destination, the entire Weasley clan as well as Hermione and her parents came through the fireplace, one after the other. He felt slightly vindicated to see that Charlie apparently struggled with floo travel as well. The giant party made a beeline for Harry and Dora, though Percy's date and Hermione's parents fell slightly behind as they took in their surroundings. Andi and Remus also made their way over to the group, while Ted remained in discussions with one of the wait staff, no doubt delivering instructions on behalf of his wife.

"Harry," Molly Weasley said, blinking back tears. "It's so good to see you, dear, so very good to see you with my own eyes." The red-headed matriarch took in the cane and the fact that Dora's arm wound under his before very lightly patting his right shoulder and gently squeezing his right hand. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. You look lovely this evening," he complimented, though he couldn't prevent the faint blush from coloring his cheeks as he did so. She did look very nice, and put together in a way he had never seen from her before, so he wasn't being disingenuous, but he was certain he would always feel terribly silly when comporting himself as Andromeda had taught him.

"Aren't you sweet?" she cooed, before moving aside to allow the rest of her family to wish Harry a happy birthday and give their regards to their hosts. Harry extricated himself from a concerned Tonks to shake hands with Arthur and Bill, pleased to note how easily he maintained his footing with just the cane as long as he was stationary. Charlie and the twins were next, with Fred and George teasing him by engaging in increasingly elaborate bows and obsequious titles until Charlie smacked them both on the backs of their heads. In an unexpected move, the 2nd Weasley son brought his fisted right hand to his heart as he executed the traditional bow to the head of a House of Harry's standing, "Lord Potter," he greeted.

"Please, call me Harry, and thank you for coming," Harry replied softly, more than a little surprised that any Weasley other than Percy was both familiar with and had actually correctly followed any pure blood protocol. He supposed it was, just as the adage claimed, the quiet ones you had to watch. The man was a dragon tamer of all things; hidden depths. Harry wondered idly as Charlie hugged his old Hogwarts classmate, Tonks, if perhaps Romanian society was a touch more formal even on a dragon preserve than he had imagined.

Percy was next, and not to be outdone by his beast-obsessed sibling, also executed a textbook bow. "Your Grace, may I present my betrothed, Miss Audrey Blishen." The brown-haired witch in question curtsied awkwardly under Percy's critical eye.

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Blishen," he told her, "and congratulations to you both."

"Thank you for the invitation, My Lord, and Happy Birthday. Percy proposed last week," the bespectacled woman gushed, offering her hand to both him and Tonks so that they might inspect her engagement ring.

"While not as lovely as the lady wearing it, it is a very fine ring," he pronounced, smiling. Both Percy and Audrey flushed at his praise. Harry was very happy for them, but he still felt like a pompous prat. He didn't think he could do this all night, no matter what Andi counseled.

Before Ginny and Ron, who had been conversing with Hermione and her parents, approached, Tonks gave him an appraising look. "Who knew you were such a smooth operator..." This brought some much-needed levity to the proceedings and caused them both to break into laughter.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Ron said, delighted to see his friend looking a bit better. "What's so funny?"

"Tonks was rightfully mocking my Lord of the Manor impression which her mother has made me promise to adopt tonight when necessary," he admitted ruefully.

"She has threatened him with more etiquette books and an invitation to a formal dinner with a member of the royal family if he doesn't comply."

"And," he continued, shaking his head at his friends' obvious amusement at his expense, "since neither of those things are high on my list right now, I am trying to do as she wishes, even though I feel completely ridiculous."

"Harry," Ginny said warmly, caressing his arm in a way that made Dora smirk,"it's your birthday, so I don't think she'll be too upset with you if you break form."

"You clearly don't know my mother very well, kid," Tonks joked, surprised when Ginny, who she had always been quite friendly with at Grimmauld, shot her a glare.

"I'll come by your table in a bit," Harry told them, oblivious to the interplay between the witches.

Hermione and her parents were the last of the early crowd, and he was very curious to properly meet the people who were responsible for raising someone as strong and intelligent as his friend. He had caught occasional glimpses of them at Kings Cross and Diagon Alley over the years, but he had never had a conversation with them.

Embracing him carefully, Hermione was pleased to note Tonks' steadying hand at his back as she pulled away to look him over closely. "Happy Birthday, Harry, you look sharp," she said with a smile, though she frowned inwardly at how thin he remained. Wasn't Remus feeding him? Taking another step back, she motioned the other members of her party forward. "These are my parents, as you know, Dr. Crispin Granger and Dr. Rosaline Granger. Mum, Dad, this is His Grace the Duke of Norfolk, Harry James Potter, and his...cousin, Miss Nymphadora Tonks."

Before Hermione's parents could get too wrapped up in formalities and titles, he offered his hand to Hermione's father, from whom he noted the witch had inherited her bushy locks. "Please, sir, ma'am, call me Harry. Your daughter is my best friend, and she has saved my life on more than one occasion." It was almost comical to see Hermione's parents start to view their bookish child in a whole new light after that statement.

"No more than you have saved mine, Harry, and as I recall, you started it!"

He laughed, "But what's a troll or two between friends, right?"

"If only that were the extent of it," she teased. "How are you feeling?" She couldn't help but ask him.

"Better," he assured her.

Taking in how much Harry had relaxed since Hermione arrived, Dora made a decision that she was sure her mother would not approve of. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger," she addressed the girl's parents. "I would be happy to escort you to your seats." Crispin looked reluctant to leave his daughter, but Rosaline was keen to tour more of the Hall.

Immediately understanding the role Tonks wanted her to take, Hermione looped her arm through Harry's as he adjusted his stance to accommodate the shorter witch. He caught a glimpse of the large group of people who had taken the first portkey being led into the room. He was pleased to see many of his former housemates in the crowd, including Dean and Seamus and their families. The greetings proceeded in a blur for the next 10 minutes, and he willfully ignored the ribbing he and Hermione were subjected to by their friends about their non-existent romantic relationship. Taking a minute to breathe, Harry turned to Hermione, "How are you holding up?"

She couldn't keep her mouth from dropping open slightly before shaking her head, "Only you, Harry...I'm fine, thank you for asking. The bigger question is, however, how are you holding up? You look peaky," she informed him, concern lacing her voice. Before he could answer, the Greengrass family emerged from the floo, all of them impeccably dressed and coiffed. Hermione couldn't help but self-consciously run a hand over her own up-do. She had applied liberal volumes of House Potter's famed sleekeazy potion to keep it from frizzing, and so far it seemed to be holding. Noting that Harry's hair also appeared rather more tamed than usual, she suspected Andromeda or Remus had procured some of the product for him as well.

Daphne smiled at the former Gryffindors as the three Greengrass women trailed her father into the room. Hermione tried not to get too incensed about the patriarchal customs of many wizarding families, since she knew for a fact that none of the Greengrass witches were wilting violets. As the family approached, Sebastian Greengrass wished his host a Happy Birthday. "Thank you, Mr. Greengrass, and please, call me Harry," he said for easily the twentieth time that evening. "Daphne is a friend." Daphne's mother, Agnes, he learned, beamed at him as he and Hermione greeted the two younger witches. "Are you looking forward to your N.E.W.T. studies, Astoria?" Harry inquired politely.

"Some of them, My Lord," she responded honestly, which made Harry smile. She and Daphne weren't that different, no matter what the latter claimed.

Taking a course of action that she thought would suit all parties, prevent further speculation about her and Harry, and have the added bonus of keeping Ginny from trying to murder her in her sleep the next time she stayed at the Burrow, Hermione offered to walk the Greengrasses to their seats if Daphne would stay with Harry. The brunette witch briefly wore a look of shock, which she would deny later, as she gracefully accepted the offer after discreetly ensuring Harry himself was supportive of the shift.

Harry immediately noticed as the second portkey group arrived and descended upon him like hungry locusts that Daphne was considerably more skilled with helping him navigate the bizarre social responsibilities required of him than either Dora or Hermione had been. Harry wasn't very familiar with most members of this group, as it seemed to be comprised mainly of people Andromeda had invited because she thought they could be future political allies. Unlike his previous minders, the former Slytherin deftly handled the reception like a skilled fencer; parrying, thrusting, or advancing in a complicated dance depending on the situation and personality involved. She kept anyone from lingering too long, she knew precisely who everyone was, and seemed to be familiar enough with them to provide several excellent conversational openings, enabling him to interact naturally with everyone. He could see the respect reflected in the eyes of these Ministry officials and politicians, and Harry thought Daphne deserved most of the credit for that. She had turned a sow's ear into a silk purse with just a few well-placed words, making him seem like he knew what he was doing, which he was aware had not been an easy task. He wouldn't go so far as to say he enjoyed it, but Daphne certainly made it less torturous.

"Come on, My Lord," she urged, preparing to walk him to his table.

"I think Andromeda wanted..." he trailed off at the look she gave him.

"Lord Potter...Harry," she knew it was under-handed to use his first name, but she needed him to listen to her. "You look like you might keel over any second, how long has she had you standing here glad handing?"

"A while," he admitted, and honestly, he was done. His back was already killing him, and they hadn't even started dinner yet. He hoped he wouldn't have to do any more of this...ever. "Thank you for your help, you're amazing at talking to people. I would not have been able to handle that last wave without you."

"It was nothing, My Lord," she said, touched by the compliment. She knew she was amazing of course, but it was still nice to hear other people tell her that sometimes. She let Harry set the pace, and she could see him making a conscious effort not to overburden her. "I'm a lot stronger than I look," she assured him.

When they reached the head table, Professor Lupin took over and subtly manhandled Potter into a chair. The raven-haired wizard was as white as a sheet by that point, and Daphne was briefly afraid he would pass out. She sent a very disappointed look toward Andromeda Tonks, who at least had the decency to look ashamed. Her husband, who Daphne believed was a healer, made his way quickly but unobtrusively to Harry's side as soon as he caught sight of his patient. Convinced he was in good hands, she curtsied before turning to make her way to her family.

Scanning the crowd, she soon caught sight of her father, whose blonde hair and impressive height made him easy to spot. Studying the group, she tried in vain to suppress her surprise over their table mates. The Greengrasses were seated with the Minister for Magic and his wife, as well as DMLE Director Madam Bones and her niece Susan. Had it been Harry or Augusta who was responsible for this arrangement she wondered?

Only two tables away now, she noted that her father had thoughtfully left one of the seats on the aisle open for her so she wouldn't have to climb over or dislodge anyone when she arrived.

As she approached her family, she froze mid-stride, glimpsing a disaster in the making out of the corner of her eye. House Black's metamorphmagus, Nymphadora, had somehow tripped over a chair leg jutting into the walkway which sent her stumbling toward an unsuspecting waiter carrying a large tray laden with drinks. At the exact moment of the collision, as the tray and its contents began their catastrophic descent, a searing wave of magic passed over Daphne's head, righting the people and glassware and bringing the tray to rest gently on the table; not a single drop of liquid had spilled. She turned toward the head table, knowing there was only one person who could possibly have been responsible for averting the mess. Sure enough, his hands were raised, and she was positive she hadn't been the only one to notice that the wand up his sleeve had only been drawn as an afterthought. She winked at Lord Potter as she finally took her seat, observing with fond amusement that it was a toss-up as to who was more embarrassed by the unwanted scrutiny: Nymphadora or Harry.

"That was exciting," Astoria announced dryly, nearly causing Susan Bones to choke on her wine.

"Poor Harry," the former Hufflepuff commiserated, coughing lightly, "He tries so hard not to draw undue attention, but events do seem to conspire against him."

"Gryffindors can't help themselves, if there are Basilisks to slay, Dark Lords to defeat, or people to save...they always act first and think later; it's a serious character flaw," Daphne agreed, her delivery leaving some of the older magicals at the table unable to tell if she was joking or not.

Susan Bones laughed out loud this time, "I always forget how funny you are, Daphne."

Giving his daughter a look, Sebastian Greengrass introduced his eldest child to the Minister, the Minister's wife, and then Madam Bones. "Daphne and I are already acquainted Sebastian," the DMLE head revealed; if her father was surprised by this, it didn't show. "She made quite an impression in the Ministry earlier this year, you must be very proud."

"We are; just as you must be of your niece," Daphne's father replied graciously.

Rufus Scrimgeour soon inserted himself into the conversation, "Miss Greengrass, Miss Bones, what are your career plans now that you've graduated?" Daphne inclined her head toward Susan, signaling the red-head that she should field the question.

"Sir, Daphne and I are both hoping to join the Auror corps." The Minister obviously hadn't expected Daphne's future aspirations to include law enforcement, but his wife suddenly wore a knowing smile.

"Miss Greengrass, are you and Lord Potter courting?" Cyrene Scrimgeour inquired innocently, putting what she considered to be two and two together and getting four.

Before Daphne could come up with a sufficiently ambiguous answer that neither confirmed nor denied the assumption, she was literally saved by the bell: the dinner bell, which signified not only that the meal would be served imminently, but also that Harry would be addressing his assembled guests. Focusing her attention on the dais, she saw him stand to speak; his eyes fluttering briefly in what she knew to be either pain or nerves as he straightened. He gestured for everyone else to remain seated, his magic pressing down on them for a moment, though Daphne was certain it had been a completely unconscious reinforcement of his preferences. Confirming her hypothesis, she noticed his eyes widen almost imperceptibly as he quickly returned his hand to his side. She smirked to herself at the very subtle sign that his spillover had been accidental. Visibly centering himself, he drew his wand and dimmed the lights in the hall for dinner. She heard Astoria's breath catch from across the table.

Harry's voice was steady as he began, "Before we partake together in the sacred rituals of hospitality, I would request that you join me in a moment of silence to remember and honor those who died in the fight against Voldemort." Lord Potter's piercing gaze prevented any undue hysterics at the use of the dark wanker's made-up name. A heavy silence filled the room for just over two minutes, at which point Harry continued his speech.

"I would also like to thank you all for joining me this evening to celebrate. Being with you today is the best possible gift anyone could receive. It makes me feel incredibly grateful and humbled to know that I have been blessed with such loving friends and family. Finally, I would like to give special thanks to the castle staff for their tremendous efforts tonight and Mrs. Andromeda Tonks, Chatelaine for House Black, for her extraordinary work on this gathering. I hope you all enjoy yourself this evening. And now, if I may propose a toast..." This time, the entire hall stood, glasses in hand, whether Harry wanted them to or not. The sight of everyone, safe, happy, and whole, brought a genuine smile to his face. He raised his glass, "To a bright future and things yet to come. To peace and tolerance. To friendship and kinship. To your health and prosperity. Cheers!" The sounds of hearty applause and glassware clinking reached him, and Harry saluted several people around the room with his glass: Remus, the Weasleys and Hermione, the Tonkses, the Longbottoms, and Daphne. He acknowledged his fellow Gryffindors, who naturally broke out into raucous cheers, and other members of the Defense Association scattered around the room. He finally reclaimed his seat, proud of himself for not stuttering or otherwise embarrassing himself.

Soon, everyone's dinner had been served, this time with flashy house-elf magic like at Hogwarts. Human staff had their place, but being able to deliver all the food simultaneously at a large event was too valuable a capability to forego. "You did good, cub," Remus told him quietly, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Thanks, though I still wish that you would have let me publicly acknowledge you as House Potter's Castellan," he replied.

Wiping his face, and wishing for Harry's sake that his parents could be here with him on this special day, he replied, "Maybe someday, but not tonight. Remember, it wouldn't do to so openly reveal your legislative priorities before you attend even one session of the Wizengamot."

"I know," Harry sighed. "As Daphne would say, 'Too bad wizards are arseholes.'"

Remus couldn't stop his laughter. "Speaking of Miss Greengrass, the two of you looked rather...comfortable together this evening. Is there anything you want to tell me?" Remus saw Ted leaning in, blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation.

"You already know we're friends, Remus," Harry replied with a frown.

"Of course, Harry, my mistake," Remus replied. He couldn't help but think of what Lily had once famously shouted in their common room during their seventh year, "Ugh, the Potter Family Magic is such a cock block!" Indeed.

"Do you think it would be inexcusably rude for me to stay here for the rest of the evening?" Harry asked Remus, moving his food around his plate without really eating any of it. It didn't take a werewolf's sharp hearing to pick up the fatigue in Harry's voice.

"No, it would be excusable," the older wizard replied, "understandable, even," he concluded, eyeing the cane propped against the chair.

"But still rude?"

"Maybe a little," the former professor revealed, reluctantly.

Ted butted in then, "Please eat something, Harry. Dinner is very good, I promise."

"I know...I'm just not that hungry, and I want to leave room for cake."

Making eye contact with Remus so the other wizard could stop him if he objected, Ted palmed a potion phial. At Remus' slight nod, he poured a bit of it in Harry's drink as he made a production of refilling the glass. He was confident from years of experience as a father and pediatrician that the pumpkin juice would effectively mask the flavor.

"Thanks," the teenager replied, picking up the glass. Before drinking any of it, however, he turned to Ted with a raised eyebrow, "What did you put in here?"

"How did you know?"

"So you aren't denying trying to drug me at my own birthday party?"

"It's just a very mild pain potion mixed with a little pepper-up variant."

"You know, you could have just asked me, Ted. People keep telling me that I am a proper adult now."

"You're right, I'm sorry. You have my word that I will never give you anything without your express permission again...unless I deem you medically incapable or unfit to give it," the Healer added, unrepentant.

Shaking his head, but smiling, so Ted would know he wasn't actually angry, Harry said, "I suppose that will have to suffice."

"Did you see me add it?"

"What? No," the mystery was obviously still bothering Ted.

"Then how did you know I had put a potion in your drink?"

"Magic," Harry replied with a smirk.

"I suppose I deserve that," Ted concluded.

"You really do," Harry agreed, "but I meant what I said. Before you refilled the glass, it was just pumpkin juice; afterwards, I could detect some magic in it. I didn't feel you cast anything on it, which I think I would have with you sitting so close, so I concluded you had added a potion or something to it."

"And you could tell that by touching the glass?"

"Of course, and so can you, if you try." Harry was about to launch into some magical theory that both Remus and Ted were very interested in discussing, when Andromeda came over and interrupted.

She appeared to have approached with an entirely different intent, before Harry's plate distracted her. "My Lord, is that all you are going to eat?"

"Er...no?" he answered, though his tone made it sound more like a question than a statement.

"Then, please, do so; the natives are getting restless. I thought you might visit a few tables before cake," she trailed off when both her husband and Remus gave her rather hard looks. "Or," she amended, "you can let me know when you are ready for cake, and then make your rounds after we sing."

"That sounds fine, thank you," he acknowledged, taking several more bites of dinner under the watchful gaze of the two wizards now sitting on either side of him. Remus could tell the exact moment that Harry realized that everyone in the entire Hall would be singing to him; the Marauder in him found it hilarious, but the father in him ruthlessly stifled his laughter. The green eyed wizard must have sensed something, however, because he vowed quietly as he placed his silverware on his plate at the 10 and 4 position to show he was finished with his meal, "I am never doing something like this again."

Ted gave his wife the go-ahead, and Andromeda nodded to the head server. Less than two minutes later, the most spectacular cake Harry had ever laid eyes on was pushed into the hall. It was an elaborate, multi-tiered replica of Hogwarts, complete with quidditch pitch and animated players. He could make out what appeared to be charmed chocolate owls flapping in and around the tower that housed the owlery, including one made of white chocolate that was clearly meant to be Hedwig. It was so touching and unexpected that he almost didn't mind when Andromeda offered him her arm in order to escort him to the magical confection. He dearly wanted a closer look, even if that meant standing once again in front of everyone so they could sing to him, this time without the table as a shield. She kept a tight hold of him as they made their way to the cake. "Smile, My Lord," she whispered. And, really, it was hard not to as he examined what could only be classified as a culinary work of art.

"This is magnificent, truly. I've never seen anything like it," his appreciation was clear. "It really is too beautiful to eat."

"I have been told that it tastes even better than it looks," she replied.

Without waiting for a response, Andromeda asked the crowd, "I think it is time to sing, don't you?"

"Yes!" chanted many people in the Hall, which Harry thought had to be down to the freely flowing drinks.

Regal in everything, including apparently leading a large group of people through a birthday song, Andromeda started them off. Harry discovered she had a rather nice singing voice.

Though he had successfully avoided blushing during his speech earlier in the evening, it was inescapable now. He tried not to, he really did, but it was impossible. He remembered to smile, but it was strained since this had to be the most awkward 20 seconds of his life, except that time Oliver Wood had walked in on him in the quidditch locker room showers and refused to leave. He released the breath he had been holding; thank goodness that part was over. Andromeda squeezed his arm twice, which was good, because without her warning he might have hexed the cake when fireworks exploded over it. The display concluded with the lighting of all 18 candles. "Make a wish," Andromeda urged. That was easy. He wished that everyone would be safe and well and that the world would be at peace. He knew it was a tall order, but this was one area in which he didn't mind going big. He took a few steps closer and blew. He might have ensured all the candles went out by casting a wandless wind charm, but he wasn't going to admit it unless pressed.

Once the clapping had subsided, Andromeda guided him forward. "The celebrant always cuts the first piece of cake; it's tradition, My Lord." Harry knew he must have looked terrified.

"Andi, I don't think..."

"Go on," she encouraged, handing him a large knife that he could tell was heavily charmed. Realizing he had no choice, he hoped Andromeda would make sure he didn't fall as he sank the blade into an area that looked remarkably like Hagrid's hut. It even had several large pumpkins growing in the garden surrounding it.

The piece was plated in the blink of an eye by a servant clad in Potter livery as his chatelaine led him back to his seat. He watched as the cake was rapidly carved into portions and served to guests. With some effort, he tore his attention away from the pastry massacre and came unexpectedly face-to-face with a familiar individual, "Hello, Mary," he said to her, wondering if she was a witch or how she might know about magic.

"My Lord," she replied, flustered by the fact that he had obviously remembered her despite only meeting her on one brief occasion. Recalling what she was supposed to be doing, she quickly presented Harry with a slice of cake. He was pleased to note that it was a piece of Gryffindor Tower and that his plate also contained the little white owl.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes lighting up like a child's when the chocolate bird began flitting around his plate. It was perfect.

Harry noticed that Remus had received the slice of Hagrid's hut that he had carved, and he suspected it might be tradition for the father- or in this case, the one closest to it- to receive the first piece of cake. He smiled. Anyone paying attention would receive an even clearer message about Harry's political leanings than the appointment he hadn't been permitted to announce would have revealed. Good. Remus was important to him, and Harry saw no point in hiding it.

Andromeda had been right, the cake was delicious; light and just the right amount of sweet. The flavor seemed to change with each bite. He had already tasted chocolate cake, caramel, and even coffee. He hadn't quite managed to eat his entire piece, but he had made a good faith effort. He also hadn't been able to bring himself to eat the miniature chocolate Hedwig. Seeing his dilemma, Remus offered to cast a preserving charm on the tiny owl and bring it back to the cottage for him.

It was time for Harry to go around to each table and thank his guests personally for attending. Now that the cake had been served, people would be starting to leave, and he needed to make sure he spoke to everyone in the hall at least once. It wasn't that he was ungrateful, he just wasn't looking forward to excessive formalities and stilted conversations with the people he didn't know as well. He reminded himself that they had already left gift bags with each place setting, and the bags at every table had been spelled to grow to their normal size as soon as a single dessert plate was removed from the station. He imagined the cancellation of the notice-me-not charms were also tied to that trigger, but he would need to examine one to know for sure.

As Andromeda approached with Dora in tow, he wondered if she intended for the younger witch to accompany him during his circuit. Despite her capabilities as an Auror, Harry thought she would be a terrible partner for weaving through the tables. As she took a seat on the other side of Remus, however, he realized that she was just coming over to visit. "Wotcher, Harry! I am so sorry about earlier. I can't believe I tripped on a chair. Thanks for making sure I didn't spill coffee all over Professor McGonagall. I don't think I ever would have lived it down."

"No problem. You weren't hurt or anything, were you?"

"No, only my pride," she said with a smile. "Though I don't think mum is going to let me leave the dais even to go to the loo until everyone else is gone."

Andromeda offered her arm again, and Remus gave him a boost out of the chair that wasn't visible behind the table. "Shall we?" He asked her.

"I thought we might start at the Minister's table," she proposed with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I think there is someone else sitting there who you might prefer to escort through the Hall."

"Are you talking about Daphne?" He asked, slightly confused.

"No, I am talking about Madam Scrimgeour," she replied sarcastically. "Of course I am talking about your dark-haired friend...unless you prefer the young Miss Bones? I wouldn't blame you. Between you and me, Amelia was also quite the looker at her niece's age."

Harry had no idea how to respond to Andromeda's odd behavior, so he decided it would be best to just ignore it. Maybe Ted had slipped something into her drink, too.

Andromeda figured she should stop teasing her paterfamilias about his girlfriend, or was she merely a friend who was a girl? Dora had mentioned he was quite close to the curly haired witch, Hermione, who had visited him several times over the last week. Were the two of them dating? That would make the set-up she was currently trying to arrange rather awkward. She clearly needed to talk to Remus. No doubt her Head of House felt more comfortable confiding to him about the details of his intimate romantic encounters.

When they reached the table, all eight people rose to their feet. She felt Harry tense in her grip. "Minister, Madam Scrimgeour," he began, shaking hands and making small talk.

He thanked the Bones witches next, as protocol dictated. The conversation that followed was far more cordial than the one with the Minister. Harry obviously liked Madam Bones and Susan, and those feelings were reciprocated. "I'll have to have you come and test the new wards on my office, Lord Potter." Harry flushed, and Andromeda found herself intrigued. Amelia explained to the members of the party who hadn't been in her office last Spring, "Harry exploited a previously unknown vulnerability in my office wards during the practical portion of his entrance exams." The Slytherin in Andromeda admired the DMLE Director's casual use of Harry's given name. She suspected it was part of a broader power play with the Minister, but no matter the motivation, it was well done and likely scored whatever points the witch had been aiming for with her desired audience, which could have even been Harry himself. Addressing him directly, Madam Bones said, "When I explained to the Goblin warding team what had happened, they were very interested in speaking with you; professional curiosity I assume."

"King Ragnuk did not mention anything about it when we discussed the wards on the castle, but then, I don't imagine he has time to track those types of requests for every team," Harry replied. Andromeda could have kissed him. The delivery had been perfect, even though she was nearly positive the teen hadn't intended his statement to cause such a stir.

Unable to hold back, Mr. Greengrass sought clarification, "Are you saying the Head of the Goblin Consortium himself worked on the wards here at Arundel, Lord Potter?"

"I am afraid I don't know how involved he was in the upgrades themselves, but he did personally conduct the ward transfer from the bank to me when the repairs were complete."

To say the table was astonished was an understatement; they could collectively count on one hand the number of humans who had, to their knowledge anyway, directly interacted with the Goblin King over the last century. Neither the Ministry's Liaison to the Consortium nor the current Minister could claim that honor. Daphne's father would have been willing to sacrifice a limb for an audience with King Ragnuk. "Forgive my surprise, Lord Potter," Scrimgeour finally replied, "I had no idea you were acquainted with the Goblin King."

"I think it is important to cultivate friendships with beings from all walks of life, don't you, Sir?"

"Indeed, My Lord. You are wise beyond your years."

Just then, Master Auror Alastor Moody clomped onto the scene. "Minister, Cyrene, Amelia, I apologize for the interruption, but these three academy aspirants were just the ones I was looking for." The grizzled Auror pulled three letters from his robe pockets. "For you Lord Potter, Miss Bones, and Miss Greengrass," he said as he passed each of them one of the envelopes. "These are your admissions decisions. They are charmed so that they can't be opened until August 1st, since none of the others will be mailed out until then, however, there were so many examinees in attendance this evening, that I thought I would hand-deliver a few.

"Thank you, Sir," Daphne replied.

He nodded at her before addressing the tall blonde man with ice-blue eyes and the beautiful brunette who he assumed were members of the Greengrass family, given the resemblance. "Are you Miss Greengrass' parents?" He asked.

"Yes," Sebastian replied.

"I am an admirer of your daughter's dueling style. I have no doubt she will be excellent in the field. In fact, these three made such a strong team, that I would be hard pressed to bet against them, no matter who their opponents were."

Yes! if that wasn't a clear indication that they had all been accepted, Daphne would eat the ugly hat Madam Longbottom was wearing this evening.

"Thank you, Auror Moody," Harry replied with a smile. "And thank you for coming this evening."

"The last time I was here was for your parents' wedding, and I know they would both be very proud of the man you've become," the Academy Commandant pronounced in his typically blunt fashion, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Ladies, Minister," he acknowledged, bowing his head before taking his leave.

"Thank you, again," Harry addressed the table, "I am sure we will be seeing more of each other soon. If you'll excuse us."

"Of course, My Lord," Sebastian Greengrass spoke, "And, thank you for the invitation, we are having a lovely time."

"Lord Potter, why don't you take Susan and Daphne with you to check in on some of the other guests?" Andi suggested. "I haven't seen Amelia in some time, and I was hoping to talk to Mrs. Greengrass about her last book."

He turned to speak to the witches in question. "Would you be willing to accompany me for a bit this evening, Susan, Daphne? Please don't feel obligated," he added hastily.

"Of course, Harry," Susan replied.

"Lead the way, My Lord," Daphne agreed, taking Harry's arm once more.

Giving one last respectful farewell to the remaining denizens of the Minister's table, the trio headed out into the room.

"Where to first?" Susan asked.

"People we don't know that well," Harry proposed, "they're likely to leave first." Susan nodded.

"Again with the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor logic," Daphne said, pretending to be exasperated. "The people who came even though they don't know you obviously want something...something they think you can provide. Those people are not going to leave until they've spoken to you, even if you keep them waiting all night."

"That makes a twisted kind of sense," Susan admitted.

"Plus," Daphne couldn't help adding, "you obviously know people Susan and I don't...like the Goblin King! I thought my father was going to have a heart attack. Did he really come here to transfer you the wards?" She was nearly certain he wouldn't lie, but she had to check, as it was relatively hard to believe.

"Yes, he did. We had been exchanging letters, and he said that since he wanted to talk to me about something I had mentioned in one of them anyway, he deemed it more efficient to take care of the wards at the same time."

Daphne stopped and turned to Susan, "Did he just say that he's quill friends with the Head of the Goblin Consortium?"

"That's what it sounded like to me," the red head agreed.

"Can I please tell my father that? I want to see the look on his face."

"Daphne, that's not...I mean, we're hardly quill friends."

"Have you or have you not corresponded with King Ragnuk XXIII?"

"Well, yes...I have, but only a few times. I wouldn't classify it as regular correspondence," Harry tried to explain, but it seemed neither witch was receptive to revising their misconceptions at the moment.

"I vote we start with the older guests and work our way towards the Hogwarts crowd," Susan suggested.

Daphne concurred, "That's a solid plan. Any objections, My Lord?"

"None from me," he replied. So that was precisely what they did. Starting with the tables closest to the door, they targeted witches and wizards of a certain age, skipping classmates or any other clusters of people with whom they were very familiar. Daphne helped him play the necessary role when they visited with Hagrid and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. It made him feel a bit dirty, but he knew the charade was a temporary necessity. His only consolation was that by that point in the evening, he didn't need to pretend to be out of sorts. By the time they had made a complete circuit of the Hall, Harry was dragging. Thankfully, only the families of friends remained to touch base with, and he had already spoken with most of them at least once. He had a slightly uncomfortable conversation with Seamus and his parents before they left the party, followed by a very engaging talk with Dean and his family. They all knew Dean's brother was an Auror, so many of their classmates had questions for him. Harry managed to get Dora to join in with them as well, as she seemed to finally be over her embarrassment. Impulsively, he decided to invite a few friends, including some who had also received letters from Moody this evening, back to Arundel for a late lunch the next day to catch up and to discuss their admissions decisions. It would all be very casual.

After bidding the elder Weasleys and Hermione's parents farewell, Harry directed the witches to Lady Longbottom, who he found in an animated discussion with Andromeda and Agnes Greengrass. Remus and Daphne's father were sitting with them and adding occasional comments as well.

As he sipped an exquisite single malt, Sebastian reflected on the evening and their host. Everything Daphne had told them about Potter appeared to be true, if a bit understated, which was frankly hard to wrap his head around...though his eldest wasn't prone to exaggeration. The teenager had a relationship with bloody Ragnuk! He was also forced to concede that her concerns about his upbringing had merit. Sebastian was successful in his business dealings in part because he was an expert at reading people; he fancied himself something of a modern day Sherlock Holmes. The famed consulting detective had obviously been a wizard and master Legilimens, and how dare anyone suggest otherwise! Lord Potter's frame and mannerisms did strongly suggest that, at best, neglect had been a signature feature of his childhood. Swirling the liquid in his glass, he took another sip. Other portions of the evening had been similarly illuminating. For example, he and Agnes had concluded that their eldest daughter had been 'Plotting' with a capital 'P' these last few weeks. The realization filled him with pride and a bit of trepidation. He didn't know exactly what the next day would hold, but it was sure to be entertaining.

Rising as Daphne approached with a sizable entourage, he seized the lull in the conversation to communicate their intent to depart. As much as he would have loved to continue to socialize with the eclectic group, Lord Potter appeared done in, and it seemed only polite to let the poor boy rest.

Harry Potter had made quite an impression on many people tonight, including him; he found himself not at all opposed to the idea of the younger wizard being linked romantically to his heir for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with his wealth, social status, or obvious political and magical power. Lord Potter seemed like a good man who would love and respect his daughter and who cared more about others than himself. She could do far worse. While he was almost certain there was nothing between the two of them and that Cyrene Scrimgeour's question this evening had no basis in fact, he couldn't rule it out completely, because Daphne had always played her cards exceptionally close to the vest. He resolved to discuss it with her tomorrow, and he intended to invoke the family seal to ensure everything made it out into the open. Slytherins were slippery, as he well knew, so he would need every tool at his disposal to make the most informed decision for the future of his family.

Even after they had said goodbye to everyone else and the staff began taking down the tables, Neville, Ron, and Hermione were reluctant to leave. "I have to get Harry to bed before he falls asleep at this table," Remus told the three Gryffindors.

"Of course, Professor," Neville replied, chagrined. His gran would be rather disappointed with him for overstaying his welcome. "Do you need any help with anything before we go?" He inquired.

"No, but thank you for offering. It looks like the castle staff have everything under control."

Ron and Hermione, however, were not as easy to dissuade. They held more proprietary feelings toward Harry, which were arguably justified given the depth of their friendship, and lacked Neville's social graces. Happily, Remus was able to defuse the situation diplomatically. "I would offer to let you stay, but I promised both your families that I would send you through the floo before midnight. If we don't do it soon, Harry will be in no shape to adjust the wards. You'll see him tomorrow, I am sure."

Ron and Hermione embraced their friend, and Harry promised to have them over to help open gifts mid-morning and to read their Academy admissions decisions together with the others in the afternoon. The Wizengamot session didn't begin until sunset the next day, so Harry knew there would be plenty of time for the small get together before he had to get ready for his politically fraught evening. "I'll see the two of you around ten?" he confirmed, and they both nodded.

One last set of goodbyes, and it was finally over. Harry knew he sounded like a broken record as Ted helped Remus get him back to the cottage, but in his mind, it bore repeating. "I never want to do something like this again; it's exhausting."

"Understood. Get some rest, Harry. We'll see you tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: GrogMcLeod, PapillonMagique, and linuxrocs. Thank you for your comments! Thanks also to Vdbrob, Hufflepuff_16, and guests for the new kudos, and Tigerpan for the new bookmark!
> 
> This fic utilizes real places and real titles, but no real people were the basis of any of the story. The intent is to treat all traditions with the utmost respect, but this all takes place in an imaginary and alternate universe. I own nothing.


	16. The Gift That Keeps On Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry opens presents, relationships develop and change, some loose ends are tied up, and Daphne is forced to get real with her parents. Political intrigue is in the air. This is AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made some minor changes to Chapter 15, so feel free to check it out again; mostly toward the end to help facilitate something in Chapters 16/17. The events in this chapter take place on 1 August 1998, the day after Harry's birthday party. I own absolutely nothing in the HP universe and little outside of it.
> 
> I apologize to my readers for another slight delay in posting. The kids are still settling into virtual school, I hosted several family visitors, plus we had a birthday to celebrate and a dance recital over the last two weeks. Everyone is back home now, so while work and other things are still crazy, I should have a bit more time to write. The Wizengamot session will definitely be in chapter 17!

~~Previously: “I never want to do something like this again; it's exhausting."

"Understood. Get some rest, Harry. We'll see you tomorrow.”~~  
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1 August 1998 - Hiraeth House - Monmouthshire, Wales - 8:23am

Harry woke in an intense pain that he hadn't felt in more than a week. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, and a sensation that was somehow both burning hot and freezing cold shot through his limbs with every beat of his heart. Worse, he needed to use the loo rather urgently. "Remus," he called weakly, hoping the other wizard had maintained the monitoring charms on him. As his Godfather entered the room almost immediately after Harry's plea, he assessed it as likely.

"Harry, what is it?" The older wizard's obvious concern made Harry feel unaccountably guilty.

Not entirely certain how to explain, he decided it would be best to address his most pressing need first. Almost beyond embarrassment, because his entire situation since the final battle had seemed at times like one giant exercise in humiliation to the fiercely independent 18 year-old, Harry admitted, "I may need your help getting to the bathroom."

"Of course, cub," responded Remus casually, deciding that voicing his relief that the younger wizard had trusted him enough to ask for him rather than trying to suffer alone would likely make Harry feel self-conscious and thus be counter-productive. Noting that the brunette did not attempt to initiate any movement, Remus mentally frowned before gently putting an arm between Harry and the bed and wrapping it around his torso in order to help the smaller wizard to his feet. He started to use his other arm to shift Harry's legs and hips into the correct position when he felt his charge go completely limp. "Harry? Harry!" There was no response. Thinking quickly, Remus used a medical spell Ted had taught him to address the problem that had prompted Harry to reach out in the first place before snapping off a Patronus to said healer and making the necessary gap in the wards. Maybe it was time for him to key Ted and Andi into the protections on the cottage.

Unwilling to leave Harry for even a minute, he had informed Ted in his message where to go once he arrived. Despite the fact that the blonde had still been asleep when he received Remus' slightly panicked invitation, he stepped through the fireplace in Wales less than 10 minutes later. Moving swiftly through the cottage, Ted pushed open the door to Harry's room and went inside.

Taking out his wand to begin his examination, Ted asked, "What seems to be the problem?" He had adopted what Andromeda referred to as his 'Healer's voice,' trying to project calmness and reassurance when he observed how agitated the werewolf was as he stood over Harry's bed.

"I don't know...he called for me this morning, which he hasn't done in a while. He said he needed help getting up, but as soon as I started to assist him, he lost consciousness." Remus conveyed, distraught.

As Ted cast a few spells over the teen, he inquired, "Did you give him any potions last night after the one I administered?"

"No, he was so tired when we got home that I had to use a switching spell to keep him from falling asleep in his dress robes." Pausing for a minute, Remus added, "For a couple of weeks now, Harry hasn't typically been taking a pain potion at night. I think they make him wake up feeling groggy."

At Remus' anxious look, Ted explained, "He's fine. He just overdid it a bit yesterday. His muscles stiffened up overnight, which can be painful anyway, but was especially rough on his still-healing bones. He needs a few potions, and I am going to work on some stretches with him after we revive him. If you wanted to start getting breakfast ready, this shouldn't take too long," the eldest Tonks concluded.

"Enervate," Ted incanted softly, causing Harry to stir slightly before opening his eyes. "Good morning," the Healer greeted.

"Morning," replied Harry, his hitched breath a clear sign of his discomfort.

Smiling at Harry as he gently brushed the younger wizard's hair from his eyes, Remus announced, "I am going to make some eggs and toast." He left to give them privacy, putting the kettle on with a flick of his wand as he entered the kitchen. It was going to be a long day.

************************

1 August 1998 - The Burrow- Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon - 9:27am

Ron Weasley paced in the field near the Burrow's Western-most ward boundary. He was expecting Hermione to apparate to his location any minute so that the two of them could floo to Arundel Castle together. Before they left, however, Ron intended to tell Hermione about his relationship with Lavender. Harry was right; it had been 9 months, and even though he had respected Lavender's need to keep everything between them quiet, he couldn't continue to keep a secret of this magnitude from one of his closest friends. It wasn't fair to him, and he realized as he retrospectively analyzed Hermione's behavior towards him over the last few months, it wasn't fair to her either. He grinned at the thought that surely his insight here would garner him some recognition for his increased emotional intelligence. Perhaps his range would now be compared to that of an owl or even a dog rather than a teaspoon? A loud crack to his left interrupted his musings. Hermione had arrived.

"Hermione!" Ron greeted her enthusiastically as she walked briskly toward him so he could let her through the wards. She looked very pretty in her long blue and white ensemble, the demure blue-grey day robes creating a rather enchanting effect over the high-collared blouse and full white skirt. He was surprised to feel a slight twist in his gut at something he hadn't believed he wanted and knew he would never have. Pushing away his odd thoughts, he wondered if he should change his own clothes before they left to see Harry since he was wearing dirty jeans and a t-shirt that had probably fit him best in 5th year.

"Good morning, Ron," she replied, coming to stand beside him.

The two of them were walking slowly in the direction of the house in what she thought was companionable silence when he blurted out, "I have something I need to tell you."

Hermione stopped abruptly and turned to look at him. If he had met her gaze, Ron would have seen how nervous she had become at his declaration, how she had curled in upon herself as if dreading his next words. As it was, however, he faced away from her, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed upon some point in the distance. Was he afraid or ashamed? For once, she couldn't tell. Maybe he was both or something else entirely. What could he possibly have to say to her that would work him up like this?

"I've been seeing Lavender Brown for the better part of a year. I...she thinks it's just sex, but I really like her. It started as a way for her to get back at her parents. They want to marry her off to the highest bidder, you see...and she, well, she was rather invested in ah...lowering the price of the goods, as it were," he finished sheepishly. "When she approached me last fall about her situation, I couldn't refuse her. I am only human, and Lavender was very persuasive."

He took a deep breath and resumed his confession, still refusing to make eye contact with her. He started walking again to distract himself from the approach of what he feared could be the end of their friendship. "She made me promise not to tell anyone, and to be honest, the secrecy of it all was part of the thrill for the first few months. It was all stolen kisses and sneaking out to broom cupboards and empty classrooms after curfew. But, by Valentine's Day, I knew I wanted something more permanent, but she just kept saying how happy she was with our arrangement, just as it was. I was such a fucking coward," he said, his voice thick with recrimination. "Since I wasn't willing to risk losing what we had, I continued to play by her rules. On one of the last days of school, Harry walked in on us in the common room. He was surprised, of course, and he urged me to be open with you. I could tell he was hurt that I hadn't confided in him, but you know Harry, he instantly forgave me."

Ron resisted the urge to turn to see what Hermione was thinking and continued to talk. If he didn't get everything off his chest now, he never would. "She wants to be an Auror, you know, not a trophy wife to some rich, old pure blood. I've thought a lot about asking my father to draft a contract, but I think she'd break up with me if I did...and her parents would never accept it anyway; I'm too poor." He scowled at the admission before gathering enough courage to divulge the last piece. "I should have told you weeks ago, I know. After last night, though, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. It seemed like, well, I was worried that you might...that you fancied me," he spoke in a rush. "I didn't want to lead you on." He swallowed audibly and finally faced her. He was shocked to find that she wasn't angry with him or disgusted. Instead, she was obviously attempting to contain her laughter. Eventually, the dam burst, and it spilled out; a delicate, musical sound that he found he still didn't like to hear at his own expense.

"I'm sorry," she said, quickly regaining her composure. "It's just...the very idea that I might be interested in you romantically. All we do is fight. I am not even sure that you and I would be friends without Harry. Well, maybe we would be now," she allowed, "but definitely not when we were younger. As for you and Lavender, I am very happy for you...and glad you finally told me, because I have had to pretend for months that I had no idea the two of you were together. I couldn't fathom why you were keeping it secret; I even thought for a while it could be because you were ashamed of her ridiculous pet names for you, 'Won-Won,'" she teased. "Things have been a little strange between us recently; I've noticed it, too, but I think it's because everything around us has changed so rapidly that we are subconsciously grasping for what is safe and familiar."

He nodded, because he didn't trust himself to speak to her without lashing out. He had been working on that tendency since Lavender had informed him that his temper was his least attractive quality. Still, his ego was hurt more than he would ever admit about the fact that she had apparently never considered him as a viable romantic partner. She did have a point, though. Without Harry, the two of them fought like Kneezles and Crups. He had always imagined that meant there was a bit of unresolved attraction between them, but Hermione had just brutally disabused him of that notion. At least she wasn't mad about Lavender, was she? "You aren't cross with me, are you?" he asked her hopefully.

"No, though it was foolish of you not to tell me and Harry about her; we could have been helping you with your star-crossed relationship this whole time!"

"Not that you would let me forget it," he joked, "but, naturally, you are right. What am I going to do?" he sighed.

"You are going to talk to Lavender about all of this, of course! You think she'll hate you if you present her family with a betrothal contract, but it could be exactly what she is waiting for. Just ask her! You'll never know unless you are honest with her about your feelings. My guess is that the two of you will be able to come up with something that will appease her parents, allow her to go to the academy, and give you the serious relationship you want with her."

"You really think so?"

"I do."

Ron smiled at her, once again struck by how lovely she looked in the mid-morning sun. Her hair was a bit of a disaster, like always, but, in his opinion, she looked nice when she wasn't dressed like a librarian. He kept his comments to himself, however, lest he make things weird between them again. Harry would be pleased to hear that he had finally come clean to Hermione. They reached the front door, and he checked his watch as they walked inside. It was nearly ten. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Do you have your Academy letter?"

"Er...no...it's still in my room," he revealed, starting up the stairs. "I'll be right back," he told her.

"You should probably change while you're up there!" she called after him.

Eight minutes later, Ron came thundering down the steps like a herd of centaurs. He was no longer dressed for yard work and now wore dark jeans and a light-colored button down shirt. His black robes were obviously the ones from his old school uniform; but they weren't too faded, and he had removed the Gryffindor crest at least. He seemed as though he had brushed his hair and even managed a quick shave. All in all, he looked quite presentable. "Better?" he asked her when he reached the main floor, turning in a complete circle so she could inspect him.

"Much," she agreed. "I don't think I've ever seen your house so quiet. Where is everyone?"

"Ginny is with the Lovegoods, the twins are at their shop, and everyone else is visiting Aunt Muriel since Charlie is in town. I feel rather like I dodged an Unforgivable getting out of that," he confided.

"I'm sure," she responded wryly.

"Can we leave now?" he asked, with a touch of impatience.

"Almost," she replied, plunging ahead, because she couldn't read how emotionally off-kilter their earlier conversation had left the sometimes volatile red head, "Ron, you know Harry had never had a birthday party before, right?"

"He made up for that yesterday, though, didn't he? That was quite a party. I think half the wizarding world was there."

She gritted her teeth. His response was exactly why she needed to talk to him before they flooed to see Harry. "The first presents he ever remembers receiving were from us. I'm only mentioning it, because he is likely to be bewildered and overwhelmed by his guests' generosity. It may be difficult to understand, but Harry didn't have the same kind of childhood that you and I did. We have to be sensitive to the fact that he may not react the same way we would. We need to be supportive."

"I get it, Hermione. I won't be a jealous git, I promise." She was clearly surprised by his rejoinder. "What?" he asked, obviously amused by her expression. "You were laying it on so thick, even I was able to pick up what you were casting."

"I suppose you have improved your general thoughtfulness over the last few years." She paused for a moment, thinking, before announcing with a smile, "Congratulations, you are now demonstrating the emotional range of a flobberworm!"

"Awwww...I was hoping to have graduated to at least the level of an owl," he replied without missing a beat.

"Someday, Ron. We all need goals," she baited him as she reached for a handful of floo powder. Tossing it in, she called out, "Arundel," before turning to stick out her tongue at him and leaping into the fire.

When Ron arrived less than 30 seconds later, he found Hermione making gagging sounds as she asked plaintively for a glass a water. He was confused and concerned until he caught her trying to discreetly wipe off her tongue on the sleeve of her robe. He smirked at her as it dawned on him what must have happened. As an invisible house-elf placed a drink for her on a nearby table with an almost inaudible pop, he drawled, "One of the first rules of flooing is ensuring your mouth is completely closed before you jump into the flames."

"Ugh, so I've learned." She shuddered as she took a long gulp of the beverage. "Floo ash is disgusting."

"It really is," he commiserated. She shot him a playful glare. "With 5 older brothers, I am sure you can imagine that I've been tricked into tasting floo ash before... although, I can't say I've ever stuck my tongue out as I entered the fireplace."

"Well, I don't recommend it," she said primly, reasserting her typical control over herself.

Looking around the empty hall, she couldn't help but ask, "Where is Harry?"

************************

1 Aug 1998 - Arundel Castle - The Drawing Room- West Sussex- 10:15am

"Ron and Hermione just came through the floo," Harry informed Remus and Andi, who, along with Ted and Dora, were fussing over him and the huge pile of gifts he had received for his birthday. All the items had been thoroughly checked for curses and other enchantments, and nothing untoward had been uncovered. They hadn't really expected anything since it was unlikely the castle wards would have allowed something harmful inside; but, people were clever, and one could never be too careful.

"I'll go get them," Remus volunteered, gesturing for Harry to remain where he was.

"I'll accompany you," offered Andromeda. "I need to have a brief word with the kitchen staff before lunch." She turned to her husband, daughter, and head of house, "If you could start arranging things for opening, that should help speed along the recording and prioritization process for your letters of thanks." With that, the pair departed the drawing room and headed for Barrons' Hall.

"Remus," Andi began cautiously, "I may have made a bit of a faux pas yesterday evening, and I need your help to make sure I don't repeat my mistake."

"Forgive me if I am having a hard time imaging you committing a social transgression, but you know I am always happy to help. What can I do for you?" He inquired with a quirk of his brow.

"Who is Harry dating?" She asked delicately, more than a little surprised at his reaction: the greying wizard started to laugh!"

"My apologies," he said when confronted with her aggrieved expression, though his eyes continued to twinkle in amusement. "How much do you know about the Potter Family Magic?"

Pondering the question, she paled slightly. Was the Potter line cursed with some kind of soul-mate nonsense? "I am afraid to say that my knowledge of the specifics of most of the lighter families' Magics is incomplete due to my ouster from society in my early twenties and the nature of House Black's alliances in my youth," she explained.

Nodding, Remus asked, "You know that Harry descends from the only surviving ancient royal line? It pre-dates the Arthurian unification and survived as more or less a kingship until magical Britain's formal separation from both the Muggle and Fey worlds with the drafting and ratification of the Statute and the sealing of Albion," he continued. An unrepentant academic, he slipped easily into lecture mode as they moved through the corridor. "Since it had been a largely symbolic position for centuries by that point, the Potters decided it would be in the best interests of their people for them to make a magical sacrifice to secure the faerie realm, forfeit their crown, and recognize the legitimacy of the mundane monarchy. In appreciation for their support, the Potters were awarded the Norfolk title, as the lands were contiguous with the Potter ancestral seat, and it had been in danger of falling extinct for lack of issue, male or female. The other Great Houses followed the lead of their Liege Lord, receiving their own modern titles to replace those that had been bestowed by the now defunct magical sovereign in exchange for their backing. In due course, the Wizengamot and Ministry evolved into their current structures and assumed the authorities that they enjoy to this day."

"Nearly everyone is aware of House Potter's place in our society," Andromeda responded simply, though his recitation had contained more historical detail than she had heard previously. "But what does all of that have to do with who Harry is involved with?"

"Everything. Coming from the Royal line, you see, the importance of not complicating or diluting the line of succession with illegitimate offspring is deeply embedded in the Potter Family Magic. Harry's ancestors decided that the most effective way to prevent even a rumor of impropriety was to make everyone aware that members of House Potter were bound by their magic not to engage in any...extra-marital activities and that any who tried to circumvent the stricture would be soundly punished. I don't believe the burden of the deterrent is meant to be excessive under more traditional circumstances, with the focus dispersed among multiple family members, but..."

"As the only remaining Potter, the force of the imperative...the impact must be immense," Andromeda finished, slightly horrified.

"Exactly," Remus confirmed with a grimace. "So, you see, while Harry has many friends and arguably even a bit of nascent chemistry with a witch or two, he isn't actually dating anyone. As bizarre as it sounds, I am sort of hoping now that he is of age, some other familial or even biological drives will help moderate the influence of that magic, for his own sake," Remus confided. He paused at the entrance to the hall, inclining his head, "I believe this is where we part ways."

"I'll see you in a few minutes," Andromeda promised, distractedly turning towards the kitchens as she considered the situation Remus had outlined and its ramifications.

Remus made his way to the fireplace, apologizing for keeping the former Gryffindors waiting. "Ron, Hermione. How are you both this morning?"

"Well, thank you, Professor," the tawny-haired witch replied. She turned pointedly to Ron, who had yet to acknowledge the greeting with even a grunt.

"I'm fine as well," Ron responded, hastily.

More entertained by their interaction than he let on, Remus informed them, "Harry's in the drawing room." As he led them through the castle, he hesitated before adding, "It's been a rough morning."

Hermione, always much quicker on the uptake than her companion, looked stricken, "Is he alright?"

"He will be," Remus reassured them. "Yesterday might have been a touch ambitious in hind sight," he admitted to the teens.

"Is he going to be able to take his seats this evening?" Hermione asked, sounding slightly put out with Remus on Harry's behalf.

The werewolf smiled internally at her obvious love and concern for Harry; they were true friends, and Remus knew intimately that there was no greater gift. "You know as well as I do that regardless of what we advise, he isn't going to undo all the planning we have put in place for tonight, no matter how he feels."

She nodded thoughtfully, because Remus wasn't wrong, but that didn't make her any happier to hear it. If left to his own devices, she swore Harry would walk to his own death if that was what he thought other people needed him to do. So preoccupied by her morbid thoughts, especially considering how close such a thing had been to coming to pass just over a month ago, Hermione nearly ran into Ron when they stopped in front of the first doorway beyond the central staircase. "After you," their former Defense Professor announced, motioning the younger magicals to go ahead of him into the drawing room.

"Harry!" Hermione called to her friend, pleased to see him as always. She examined him discretely as she approached his chair. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw that suggested he was in pain but resolved to soldier through it. He still seemed terribly thin.

"Hey, mate," Ron greeted him, also giving him a once over and frowning at his findings. Changing the subject so Harry didn't pick up on their increased scrutiny, he gestured to the piles of brightly wrapped presents around them, commenting, "This is quite a haul you have here, how do you want to start?" Harry blushed at the implication, and Hermione shot Ron an icy glare.

"Ted and Dora organized them into groups based on who they are from. Ministry officials are over there," Harry explained pointing to a heap on one of the settees, "and gifts from friends and family are here," he said, referencing a few items on a table next to his chair.

Before they could devise an appropriate strategy for tackling the profusion of gifts, Andromeda rejoined them. She was trailed by two house elves and armed with parchment and a dicta-quill. "This is Dilly, and this is Wimsy. They volunteered to assist us with sorting through everything."

"Thank you," Harry said to the small helpers.

"Master is very welcome," said the one Harry believed to be the female elf, Wimsy. Dilly nodded vigorously in agreement, causing his large ears to flap around his head. Both elves wore uniforms in Potter colors similar to the ones in which the footmen had been dressed the previous night.

"Right, then," Andromeda directed, "Everyone choose a pile, pick up a gift, and call out who it's from."

"Andi, I don't think that's..." Remus objected, but his protest was dismissed before it could even be properly lodged.

"If we don't do this together, we'll never finish," she defended. "Harry should open all the gifts from people with whom he is well acquainted, of course."

Harry seemed relieved at the witch's proposal, so Remus gracefully accepted defeat and elected not to press the issue further. Even after 5 years of knowing Harry as a teenager, he obviously still had things to learn about his godson's personality.

"You first, Harry," Hermione encouraged. Remus could see that at least the two of them were on the same page.

"This is from the Greengrasses," Harry announced, carefully opening the large, flat package. It was an heirloom scrying mirror. The intricately carved wooden frame dominated by a dragon motif gave some indication as to its age, but the obsidian of the mirror itself was as smooth and reflective as the day it had been crafted. He could sense the magic imbued in the artifact and feel its seductive call. It had clearly been in the possession of a powerful seer for many years. Something about it made him uncomfortable, though he couldn't deny its beauty. He deliberately avoided gazing upon the surface of the mirror, afraid of what he might See.

Andromeda took the mirror gently from his grasp, surreptitiously gauging his reaction as she examined the incredible gift. He looked apprehensive. "My Lord, this is a magnificent piece. Did it come with a letter of providence?"

Looking through the wrapping, still somewhat stunned, he spotted an old piece of parchment which detailed the mirror's history. As soon as he picked up the letter to hand it to Andi, Dilly cleared away the paper. "The mirror dates to the 16th century and is reported to have belonged to Nostradamus," she read, astonished. "It was believed to have been gifted to him by Catherine de' Medici when he served as Physician-in-Ordinary to her son, the young King, Charles IX."

Knocking the occupants of the room out of their collective daze, Ron quipped, "I guess that's what happens when people find out you got an Outstanding on your Divination N.E.W.T., Harry." Remus and Dora laughed, and even Harry cracked a smile at his friend's joke. As Andi ensured the relevant details were recorded faithfully by the quill, she was forced to acknowledge that if the Greengrass family had been aiming to impress, they had definitely succeeded.

"Okay, check who the gifts are from," she ordered Ted, Dora, and the three teens as they each held up a gift from their respective stacks. "Any close associates?" She asked. Observing negative head shakes from everyone but Harry, she told them to go ahead and open the presents. A number of well-wishers had given Harry sweets and robes of varying degrees of formality, though Andi noted few were sized appropriately. She would have Harry go through them later when they had more time to determine what to do with them based on which ones he liked and which ones had tailoring charms built in, etc. She and Ted had given Harry a dark green cashmere winter cloak of which he seemed to be quite fond. She had been able to glean some measure of his style preferences when they had shopped for dress robes, and she was confident the cloak hit all the requisite marks.

The Finnegans had gifted Harry with Gilderoy Lockheart's complete Household Pests collection, which even Hermione agreed should go straight in the bin. Ron was affronted, "That prat," he grumbled, "he knows as well as we do how utterly useless that smarmy, memory-charming tosser is."

"Ron, it is the thought that counts," Harry admonished with a disapproving frown.

"It's the thought that I take issue with," he griped in response.

"Besides, I am sure his mum did the shopping, and on its surface it is a nice housewarming present," countered Harry.

"There is obviously a story here," Andromeda interrupted, "And I am very interested in hearing it later, but we have to keep going."

"Dear, are you sucking all the fun out of opening presents?" Ted questioned in a mild tone.

"I...well, I suppose I am, aren't I?" She said, dropping heavily into one of the room's many upholstered chairs.

"It's okay," Harry immediately responded, "we have a lot to do, and you are just trying to keep us on schedule."

The group continued opening package after package. The Lockheart travesty aside, Harry received at least fifty books: defense tomes of all types, an advanced set of charms texts from Professor Flitwick, and a beginners' guide to spell crafting and runes from Dora. Hermione and her parents had given him several rare muggle first editions for the Castle Library along with a copy of Hogwarts: a History that had been signed by Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. Andromeda could hardly contain her excitement, "Where on Earth did you find this, Ms. Granger?"

"In France," The bushy-haired witch revealed.

"It's in such good condition," the older witch gushed. Harry and Hermione both found themselves smiling at her appreciation of the book and obvious family pride.

Harry accrued reams of bespoke and personalized parchment and dozens of expensive quills. Terry Boot had given him a quill that had a spell check feature that Harry thought was exceptionally clever. The owner of Scrivenshaft's had included a gift for both Ron and Hermione in the package he had sent for Harry, upon whom he had bestowed a set of five Phoenix feather quills. Ron received a Coo feather quill, while Hermione received one with a Sarimanok feather. "The Sarimanok can be found on Mindanao, an island in the Philippines; it's a symbol of good fortune," she informed them.

"What about mine?" Ron inquired curiously.

"The Coo looks a bit like an owl and is closely associated with the Wizards of Chiloé and Chilota mythology," she explained, pulling the details from the recesses of her mind. Turning to Harry, she asked, "Do you think you could cast a spell with one of those quills?"

He looked thoughtful, it honestly hadn't even occurred to him to try, despite the warmth that he had felt when he handled one of the implements. "Time for an experiment, then" he proposed, casting a silent levitation charm on the paper in which the quills has been wrapped. It didn't work as well as his wand, naturally, but the paper did float as it should.

"It will channel a spell, but it isn't nearly as efficient a focus as a wand. In fact, it felt similar to wandless casting, though the power requirement was lower. Also, and maybe this is just a peculiarity of Phoenix feathers, it put off quite a bit of heat when conducting the magic," he held out his hand, and she took it gently in her own. His palm was red, as if it had been burned.

"Harry," she gasped, casting cooling and healing charms on him in quick succession. As she observed him reach for another gift, she was satisfied that the experiment had left no lingering damage. Forming a hypothesis, she offered, "The wood must act as an insulator, preventing injury and increasing transference and conduction efficiencies. I wonder what would happen if the body of the quill was encased in holly?" She asked.

"Maybe if you wrote to Ollivander, he might help you interpret the results of the experiment? I suspect the core is suspended in something, perhaps a potion or spell, before it is placed in the wand - or at least before the wand is sealed- to help channel the magic safely and effectively... though," he theorized, "that might be a trade secret."

"It won't hurt to ask him, Hermione," Remus suggested as he watched Andromeda make a conscious effort to stop herself from hurrying them along.

"I think I will, thank you," she concluded as they opened another round of presents. The Longbottoms had given Harry what looked like a sapling, but it had Remus, Andromeda, and Hermione in raptures.

"It's a Hearth Tree! A magical cedar, if I am not mistaken," Andi exclaimed. "I've never actually seen one that has been personally cultivated like this."

"Neville must have grown it especially for you, Harry," Hermione marveled. "They are incredibly difficult to coax along and they require a tremendous magical investment. He must have been working on this for you for months!"

"Should we...um...plant it, now?" Harry asked, grateful for Neville's present, but slightly confused as to its purpose beyond the obvious.

"No, it needs to be anchored to the wards in ritual and positioned near the center of the ley line that runs under the castle," Remus informed him. "You'll probably need to use your new mirror to identify the most advantageous location for placement. Once it is integrated into the castle's magical...biome, for lack of a better word, it will flourish. The tree will reinforce and amplify the existing protections here; help guard the property and its inhabitants from negative influence; and encourage strength, prosperity, and longevity within the House of Potter and on these lands, if my memory of the magical attributes of cedar serves. This is a priceless gift that will safeguard your family and home for generations."

As Harry gently caressed the leaves, he could feel the protective magic woven in and around them. It was humbling that Neville had done this for him, for his family and future. After several minutes, he reluctantly left the tree in order to look at the items from other guests. Alastor Moody had gifted him with several pieces of Auror equipment, providing Harry with yet another indication that he had likely been admitted to the academy. Dobby had, of course, given him socks, and Tonks had a bit of a chuckle about the fact that Harry's house elf had given him a gift.

"He's my friend," Harry had explained, not quite understanding what all the fuss was about. Ron told the group about Harry's 'anniversary gift' to the little elf, which reminded Harry that he hadn't given it to him yet. "With everything that has happened, I didn't get a chance to do it before we left school," he revealed, distressed by the oversight.

"You'll be able to do it this week," Remus promised, as Harry unwrapped several rather sentimental offerings. The Creeveys had put together an extensive collection of magical photographs for him. As he flipped through the album, it was like being transported back to Hogwarts. Colin and Dennis had captured so much more than memories in its pages. Snape had sent him a lovely hand-carved keepsake box covered in lilies that contained pictures of his mother and trinkets that had belonged to her when she was young. It was surprising; and seeing images of his mum doing ordinary childhood things like playing in a pile of autumn leaves and swinging at a park, knowing that Snape was the reason he now had these fragmentary glimpses into her life that he had always craved, left Harry off balance. Why had Snape given him that which he obviously treasured?

Already emotionally wrung out, the Weasley's gift nearly pushed him over the edge. He had already opened a slew of pranks, candies, books, and the like from various family members, but the tag on the plate-sized box revealed this gift was from all of them. When he removed the lid, he found a letter nestled in the tissue paper on top. As he read, he realized they had charmed him his very own family clock. The letter contained instructions for how to assign the hands, which he was surprised to discover required a drop of blood and several decidedly grey tracking enchantments, as well as how to change the settings and add additional individuals. It currently sported five hands and the same 8 status settings as the Weasley clock. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron nervously awaiting his reaction. Smiling broadly, he stated with absolute sincerity, "This is brilliant!" He knew he would be adding Remus, Ron, and Hermione to his clock, provided they were willing.

As he surveyed the room, he noticed the two house elves had been hard at work clearing the carnage and moving the birthday gifts to the areas Andromeda had designated. The recording scroll looked to be more than 15 feet long at this point, with the bulk of the parchment pooled like soft serve ice cream into creamy folds on the floor. Only three packages remained: one box and two letters. The wrapped gift was from the Minister for Magic. One of the letters was from Dumbledore, which Harry had no intention of opening today, and the other was unexpectedly from King Ragnuk. Picking up the Headmaster's missive, Remus stated, "I'm half tempted to throw this one in the fire."

Andi was nodding in agreement, but Ted's more logical course prevailed. "I agree that you shouldn't read it right now, since there is no reason for you to let any of his undoubtedly manipulative nonsense get inside your head before tonight's session. However, I think you should see what he has to say eventually...though maybe not until after we have had a chance to check it over for spells a few hundred more times."

"You're right, of course," Harry acknowledged, "but definitely not today, I don't have the energy." The green-eyed wizard did sound mentally and physically exhausted by even the prospect of more Dumbledore shenanigans.

"As for the Goblin King's letter, you should probably read what he has to say post haste," Ted suggested, a sparkle in his eye at the obvious interest the other magicals in the room harbored for the contents of the message.

Harry nodded and broke the seal on the letter, the distinctive tang of Goblin, or at least Ragnuk's, magic washing over him. He read carefully, though the note wasn't long. "He is just wishing me a Happy Birthday and sending his regrets for not being able to attend my party," Harry let out a chuckle at the explanation, "He said he didn't want to risk sparking another wizard-Goblin conflict just because a bunch of wizards died of shock. He goes on to 'respectfully request my presence' at the bank at my convenience to discuss business matters between the House of Potter and the Consortium."

"May I see that, My Lord?" Andromeda asked. Harry handed her the letter. Her eyes grew wider the further she read. As she refolded the parchment and handed it back to Harry, she said, "He really likes you, My Lord. I think it would be in your best interests to nurture this...friendship. I recommend you pick a date to visit and write back as soon as possible."

"Enough politics, you two, it's time for the last present," Ted announced, handing the gift from the Minister to Harry for him to open before rubbing his hands together in exaggerated anticipation.

The package was wrapped in red and gold, presumably to evoke Gryffindor pride, though Andromeda revealed she thought it likely he had sorted into Slytherin house at school, regardless of what he liked to project these days. Inside the box was a medallion nearly identical to the one Susan had been wearing on the day of their entrance exams. The small note attached to the necklace confirmed his hypothesis.

"I have the power as Minister to grant a select few the symbolic keys to our city. This privilege is typically reserved for high-ranking members of the magical government and their under-age family members, but I can think of few I trust more to have the ability to transport through the Ministry's wards in a time of crisis. This medallion gives you unrestricted access into every part of the Ministry; use it when needed and guard it well. RAS, MfM"

"I bet that even includes the Department of Mysteries," Ron speculated in awe, not noticing Harry's flinch until Hermione kicked him. "Ow!"

"It shows a great deal of faith in you that he would give you what is effectively an all access pass to the Ministry," Remus opined.

"I suppose," Harry agreed, faintly. He would never understand politicians.

The other item in the box was a thin black book, which was also accompanied by a note:

I was the senior Auror in charge of your father's first case after he graduated from the academy. We worked together on this robbery, and several other matters in his first year in the corps. I sought - and was granted- permission to give you his first case book. A copy was made for the archives, but the one in your hand is the original. You'll notice once you start learning about how to investigate crimes as a cadet that procedures have changed a bit since 1981, but I believe reading your father's formal and personal records of his first case will give you insight into him as a man and an Auror. I gained an appreciation for his values and skills as an investigator when I served with him nearly 20 years ago, and I wanted to share that perspective with you. I hope you find what you are looking for in these pages.

Sincerely Yours,

Rufus A. Scrimgeour

Minister for Magic

"Rufus is ambitious, My Lord," Andromeda warned. "He has gone to considerable trouble to win your regard in the hopes that you will view him in a favorable light and extend your allegiance or at least offer an alliance. You control 6 votes in the chamber - twice as many as any other member - and he knows it. Feel free to explore this relationship, but be wary."

"Always," Harry vowed. He didn't trust any politicians, evens ones who had worked cases with his dad and been head auror.

"I'm starving," Dora announced to the room, reminding everyone how close it was getting to lunch.

"Your other guests will be arriving soon, My Lord. I had hoped that you would have had time to write a few thank you notes before they got here, but that isn't possible now," fretted his Chatelaine.

"It'll be fine," Ted soothed. "We'll take a light lunch in the dining room, and then the kids can catch up with each other in the library for the rest of the afternoon. The Wizengamot session tonight doesn't start until almost 9pm. Harry can work on the notes tomorrow."  
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1 Aug 1998 - Greengrass Manor, Ipswich, Suffolk, England - 12:02pm

As Daphne turned the corner, steeling herself for the impromptu conference her father had called in his study, Astoria emerged from the shadows and pounced, "Where are you all dressed up to go, sister dearest?"

"You scared the life out of me, Tori!" Daphne shrieked, dramatically placing her hand over her rapidly beating heart. "You shouldn't skulk in corners; it's unbecoming." Once she'd recovered, Daphne decided there was no real harm in divulging her plans. "If you must know, I'm returning to Arundel Castle. Lord Potter invited several of us to open our Academy letters together over lunch."

"Please! Like you haven't already looked at your results," Astoria scoffed.

"Of course I have! What do you take me for, a Hufflepuff? I could hardly risk discovering I'd been rejected in a large group of relative strangers; that would be humiliating." Pausing to brush her hair over her shoulder, she announced proudly, "Thank Merlin, I was awarded a place. Given Auror Moody's visit to our table last night, I thought it was a distinct possibility, but it's never prudent to count your dragon eggs before they've hatched." At her sister's unladylike snort, she defended herself, "Naturally, I re-sealed the envelope so no one will be the wiser. I think I can convincingly feign surprise."

Rolling her eyes, Astoria started to walk away before a thought occurred to her. Reversing her course, she asked casually, "Will Heir Longbottom be there today?"

"Yes, I imagine so," the older witch responded slowly, narrowing her eyes as she demanded, "Why do you want to know?"

"He's a stone cold fox," she replied matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And, really, the Longbottom Heir had become quite 'scrummy' in recent years, so maybe it was.

"Millicent Bulstrode shares your opinion," Daphne revealed wryly. "They're dating, you know."

An odd look passed over Astoria's face before she declared, "That makes him even more attractive to me, honestly. He clearly doesn't judge a book by its cover."

Ignoring Astoria's casual insult of their mutual friend as she noted her sister's slightly dreamy expression, Daphne warned, "You need to get that idea right out of your head, Tori. Millie is serious about him, and she would break you like a twig. You know how territorial she can be."

The younger witch pondered the situation, after all, she considered herself handy with a wand and rather scrappy in a fight, but as she pictured Bulstrode's sheer size, especially her large hands, she saw the wisdom in Daphne's advice. "I suppose I will have to congratulate her on her superior planning skills and initiative the next time I see her," she conceded. Never one to dwell on disappointment, Astoria inquired, "Who else will be there?"

Frowning at her sister's acute interest in the gathering, she answered absently, "I don't know, mostly Lord Potter's friends, I suppose. He invited Dean and Susan last night, and I am sure Hermione Granger and Weasley will be there, too," she couldn't prevent her sneer as she spat the boy's name.

Oblivious to Daphne's epic hate-on for the red-headed Wizard, Astoria pronounced, "I do like a Gryffindor; they're very exciting."

"But not Lord Potter?" Daphne questioned, interested in what her sister would say.

"Merlin, no!" She swore vehemently. "I don't engage with Lions for their conversational skills, and the poor man is laboring under what amounts to an incredibly powerful chastity charm. I'll pass..."

"Not everything is about sex, Astoria," Daphne chided.

"More's the pity," the other witch agreed. "Plus, I mean he is certainly attractive enough, but he's a bit short, isn't he?"

"How am I related to such a shallow creature?" Daphne asked herself rhetorically. "Further, while he may never be tall, he could gain some height. A wizard of Lord Potter's power probably won't go through his primary magical maturation until his mid-twenties. There's still time for a growth spurt or two."

Astoria's eyes widened at Daphne's declaration as she filed the layered implications of her sister's words away to analyze later before re-focusing on her primary objective, "When are you leaving?"

"Mother And father want to speak with me in the study, but I had hoped to leave shortly, why?" Daphne asked, casting a suspicious glance at the 16-year-old.

"Just curious, unless...you wouldn't mind a plus one, would you?" Astoria's disinterested veneer had disappeared. "Mother and father could use me to help keep an eye on you," they both laughed briefly at the ludicrousness of such a statement. One of them unquestionably needed close watching, but it certainly wasn't Daphne. Looking hopeful, the younger witch promised earnestly, "I will wear the dowdiest thing I own if it pleases you, or maybe I should just borrow something from you," Astoria teased, risking a jab at Daphne's wardrobe as she was confident her campaign of persuasion was on the verge of success.

"Brat," Daphne smirked, before sighing, "You really are impossible." The older witch could feel her resolve crumbling, because Astoria did need better friends and role models. "As long as it is agreeable to mother and father, I don't see why you can't come along. But, you need to be on your best behavior."

"I promise," Astoria vowed sincerely.

Heading toward the study, and trying not to equate it to heading to her doom, Daphne pondered for perhaps the 20th time that day what her parents could possibly want to speak to her about that required this degree of privacy. As she reached the door, she turned back to her sister, "I want to floo over in the next 20 minutes." Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open and walked inside.

Daphne was relieved to see that neither of her parents looked unduly upset, but it was hard to ignore the weight of the magic in the room. "Have a seat, dear," her mother encouraged, pouring her a cup of tea.

Deciding there was no point in prolonging the inevitable, Sebastian Greengrass cut right to the chase. "It has become increasingly evident to your mother and I that you have been making plans without discussing them with us, significant plans that may well affect the future of our House. This is bigger than you, Daphne, and we will succeed or fail together. It's past time to bring us in." Her father didn't sound angry, but he was clearly concerned. Visibly centering himself in preparation for his next actions, she felt the first stirrings of fear as she watched his stern public mask fall into place. They surely wouldn't disown her or anything equally drastic without having all of the facts, would they?

"Sebastian," her mother scolded, "Stop the parlour tricks and invoke the seal, you're scaring her."

Regret flickered across his face, "My apologies, that wasn't my intent. I merely wish to impress upon you how important it is that we be open and honest with one another."

"Of course," she whispered, looking at her hands folded neatly in her lap, lamenting that she hadn't discussed her intentions with them from the beginning. Not that she was fomenting rebellion or anything, but they apparently didn't know that. Lesson learned.

Her father stood, "I don't want there to be any confusion or miscommunication." He drew his wand and spoke, "As is my right as Patriarch, I invoke our family seal over this gathering. All words spoken in this room until I lift the seal shall be truthful. Semper Veritas. So I say, so mote it be."

Wasting no time, because maintaining the seal was taxing, her father asked, "Why do you want us to attend the Wizengamot session this evening?"

Gathering her thoughts, because the spell was pressing her to say everything at once, she explained, "At first, it was only because I wanted to witness the Chief Warlock's reaction to Lord Potter's assumption of his seats and see what Lady Longbottom had in store for the Chief Warlock now that she is witting of some of his less savory dealings at Hogwarts over the last several years. Since I thought you might enjoy viewing it as well, I worked to obtain places for us. Then, after I participated in several discussions with Lord Potter's ...privy council, I suppose, I wanted you to be there in case either Lady Longbottom or Lord Potter were to nominate you for consideration for any seats that may be vacated during the session. I didn't say anything, because it isn't likely that our family will receive a nomination, and, well, I wanted you to be genuinely surprised if it happened."

Neither of her parents looked like they knew what to say to that; it had not been what they had been expecting to hear. "What else did you talk about in these political meetings?" Her mother asked.

"I didn't compromise any of our own dealings, naturally. However, since the Chief Warlock has unlawfully controlled the Potter proxy for more than a decade, and he engaged in some utterly shameful and arguably criminal behavior towards Lord Potter following his defeat of Voldemort, most of the discussions were focused on ascertaining the kind of threat Dumbledore posed and analyzing his motivations and possible end-game with regard to House Potter. The remaining conversations centered around which families could potentially be removed from their seats if the anticipated back-lash against blood supremacists were to occur and which families should be named to serve in their places. There was nothing more, I swear."

There was a lot to unpack there, but now wasn't the time. "Do you truly want to be an Auror?" her father probed quietly.

Surprised that they would ask her that, for how could they not have at least some sense of the depth of her feelings regarding her chosen career? Nonetheless, she replied, "I have never wanted anything more in my entire life, except for perhaps the defeat of Voldemort...and that unicorn when I was four."

"My last question relates to your relationship with Lord Potter...is it, that is..." the blond-haired Wizard cleated his throat awkwardly before continuing, "Is it romantic in nature? Do you want it to be? Has Lord Potter made any overtures of that nature toward you?"

"What? No. Lord Potter and I are friends, and we are soon to be colleagues and comrades-in-arms. I have a great deal of respect for him, which I believe is reciprocated. Our relationship is not and has never been romantic in nature, and Lord Potter has never made any overtures toward me, except those of friendship. Would I be opposed to exploring something romantic with him in the future? No, of course not, but I feel that given his magical obligations and the demands the academy will place on both of us, the timing may not be advantageous for several years.

"How would you feel if I spoke to his...Steward, Mr. Lupin, about a contract?" While House Greengrass did not have the standing to initiate such an agreement with House Potter, there were no rules against communicating their interest.

"I...I can't believe I am saying this, but I am not opposed. It would have to be very flexible, with no punitive clauses for either party if one of us wants to break it off. I am almost certain that Professor Lupin will not entertain a contract, however, so this is all a moot point. If by some miracle you did gain any traction, I would want to be involved directly in any decisions," she insisted.

"We would never presume otherwise," her mother reassured her, looking as bewildered as Daphne felt about the turn of events.

Standing once more, her father broke the seal. All of a sudden Daphne felt like she could breathe again; the air was lighter somehow. She watched on with concern as her father slumped in his chair. "I am going to need a nap before tonight, I think," he joked.

"Now that you know I wasn't plotting world domination without you, may I floo to Arundel Castle?"

"Who will be there?" Her father questioned sternly, despite his obvious fatigue.

"Aside from Lord Potter, Professor Lupin, Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks, Millicent Bulstrode, Susan Bones, and Neville Longbottom, at least. I think it is likely that a few more Gryffindors from school may also be in attendance, but I don't know for sure. Also...Astoria would like to accompany me. Would that be all right?"

"I suppose. I do feel better about the two of you being together. Family needs to look out for one another.

Daphne resisted the urge to huff. She was a grown witch more than capable of taking care of herself. For Merlin's sake, and theirs, she hoped they never learned the truth about life in the Academy dorms. She was suddenly struck by the idea that perhaps they did have some inkling about it and that it was a desire to protect and insulate her from that which had driven the contract discussion rather than the naked Slytherin ambition she had initially assumed. Breaking her from her runaway thoughts, her mother asked her what time she would be home.

"I can't imagine we'll be any later than 6:00pm, since Lord Potter and several others will need time to get ready for the session tonight."

"We'll be expecting you by half five," her father decreed. She nodded her assent and bid them farewell. What a strange day it had become already!

As she approached the fireplace, she beckoned Astoria. "I'm right here, there's no need to yell," the younger witch called back, making a show of checking her ears.

"Ready?"

"For the last 20 minutes," Astoria confirmed in a bored tone.

Throwing powder into the floo, the witches called out their destination and stepped into the flames.

To Be Continued ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewer: GrogMcLeod. Thank you for your incredibly kind comment, it was very motivating for me. Thanks also to Enimia13, askariPrizrak, and guests for the new kudos!
> 
> I recently revealed my dirty little fanfiction secret to two of my sisters, and they have been wonderfully supportive and proved to be excellent sounding boards and advisors about things that need expansion and clarification. They receive full credit for the names of the House elves, and, along with my oldest son, were instrumental in helping me come up with appropriate gifts, especially the one from the Minister and Dumbledore's bombshell which you'll see in the next chapter.


	17. Hear Ye, Hear Ye - Lammas - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter take place on 1 August 1998, the day after Harry's birthday party. The intrepid crew finally officially learn whether they were admitted to the Auror Academy, and Harry and some of the others attend one of the most important Wizengamot sessions of the century. Deepening ties and political maneuverings are the name of the game. This work is AU - I am not an expert on parliamentary procedure, and I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: GrogMcLeod and PapillonMagique. Both of you left very nice comments on the last few chapters, and I really appreciate it. Thanks also to ArdienteDeseo and a few guests for the new kudos! On with the show!

~~Previously: “Throwing powder into the floo, the witches called out their destination and stepped into the flames."  
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1 August 1998 - Arundel Castle - East Wing Master Suite - West Sussex- 12:15pm

Though Harry had yet to spend a single night in his personal chambers in the castle, he and the house elves had invested a considerable amount of time arranging a suitable office space for him to work out of when he was based at Arundel. The room was dominated by an antique rosewood writing desk, which faced the fireplace and was surrounded by mostly empty shelves. A chandelier in a medieval style hung from the high coffered ceiling, bathing the room in a golden glow that enhanced the warm effect created by the medium-toned wood and caramel and tan fabrics covering the chairs and framing the circular window of the casual reading nook carved out on the far wall.

So grateful for having reached their destination without any mishaps, Hermione barely spared a glance for her surroundings. It had been a somewhat harrowing trip through the castle halls for the trio. "I'll be right back," Harry informed his friends as he unsteadily crossed the threshold into the adjacent bedroom. Hermione made to follow him before Ron grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Hermione, where are you going?" Ron whispered harshly.

"To help Harry, of course," she responded just as vehemently, shrugging out of his hold and resuming her course.

"You do know he's changing in there, right?" He questioned her with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh...well, no, I hadn't realized," she replied, blushing faintly despite herself.

"He'll be fine," Ron reassured her with an awkward pat on her shoulder. "And if he isn't out in 10 minutes, I'll go in and check on him, okay?" After all, he was just as concerned about their friend as she was, he was just better at hiding it.

Before she could thank him, Harry called to them through the door, "Neville, Dean, and Millicent just arrived, would you mind meeting them and escorting them to the dining room? They're a bit early." They could both hear the faint notes of distress in Harry's voice. "Also, if you see Remus or Dora, could you send one of them to fetch me? I just need to sort this little bit of mail and grab my academy letter before I join you." He paused for a moment before adding, "Susan is here now, too. Do you think you could keep them entertained until I get there?" Hermione thought she heard him bemoan what a terrible host he was turning out to be, but it was too muffled for her to be certain.

Faced with Harry's obvious concern for his guests, Hermione abandoned her initial plan for Ron to remain. It would truly be best for the two of them to greet their former classmates together in Harry's absence, and she found herself incapable of denying his simple request when she knew fulfilling it would alleviate some of his stress. "We're on it, mate," Ron replied on her behalf, already halfway across the room.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at finally getting a minute to himself. He felt a little guilty about sending Ron and Hermione to meet everyone in his stead, but they would get there much faster without him, and this way, he could recharge a little before jumping back into the fray.

Eyeing himself critically in the mirror, he noted that the green robes he had chosen were too big and that his hair had lost any semblance of the order he had managed to impose on it that morning. As he picked up his discarded robe off the bed, he spotted the notes from the Minister, Dumbledore, and Ragnuk peeking out of its pocket. Tucking them into his new robes, he moved to hang the old garment on his closet door. Still feeling the effects of the previous evening quite keenly, the act of raising his arm to hook the clothes on the peg took his breath away. Concentrating hard on maintaining his footing, he lurched a bit dizzily back into the adjoining study. Breaking his earlier resolve, he positioned himself gingerly in the massive desk chair, unable to prevent a pained hiss from escaping as he sat.

Needing a distraction, he laid the missives from arguably the three most powerful beings in the entire wizarding world side by side on the desk. Staring blankly at them, he tried not to think too deeply about the fact that not just one, but all three, had written him a personal message in the last 24 hours. Opening the top right drawer, he seized the envelope he had received from Auror Moody at the party and pocketed it before he could forget. Next, he carefully placed the Minister's notes in the same drawer before centering the letter from the Goblin King under the snitch-shaped paperweight atop his large leather desk blotter. He hoped he would have time to draft a reply before the Wizengamot meeting that evening. Finally, he fingered the letter from Dumbledore. To read or not to read, that was the question. Deciding that not knowing what it said actually gave its contents more power over him, he ripped open the envelope before he could change his mind again.

"My Dearest Harry,

I hope this finds you well. I know you are upset with me for insisting that you stay with your relatives this summer, but I only sought to protect you from those who would do you harm after your defeat of Tom Riddle. I am sure in the months to come you and Remus will regret your actions and see that I was right to work to emphasize your safety over your comfort.

Now, on to happier topics. Please allow me to be the first to wish you a happy birthday and many returns."

Puzzled at Dumbledore's words, for in truth - though he would have no way of knowing it of course - the Headmaster had ended up being the very last person to offer him birthday wishes; Harry stopped reading the main letter to see if he could ascertain when it had been sent. Sure enough, it was dated a full week before his birthday - July 24th. Why hadn't he received it until yesterday? Odd...unless...it could have gone to the bank due to the redirection ward, and then he supposed Ragnuk could have sent it along with his own letter? Deciding it didn't really matter at this point how it had been delivered to him, only that it had been, he continued to read:

"A wizard's 18th name day is a significant event in our world, and yours is considered even more so by many in our society. Understandable perhaps, for had you lived a mere 300 years ago, this rite of passage would have been marked by your coronation. Under these circumstances, it was a challenge for me to find a gift that reflected the depth of our ties and sufficiently honored this blessed occasion. However, once I took a moment to consider what you value above all else, inspiration struck.

As you are a man who holds your relationships with others in the highest regard, and your friendships with your closest confidantes dearer still, I have called in a few favors so that you may travel your future path with true companions at your side. Happy Birthday!

I am yours most sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, OoMfC "

What did Dumbledore mean? Was he talking about the Academy? The letter seemed to be implying that Harry, or perhaps some of his friends, owed their Auror placements to the headmaster. But that wasn't likely, was it? Except for, well...Ron. By his own admission, his best friend had not received the N.E.W.T. scores required to earn a place. And, if Dumbledore's intervention had led to Ron's acceptance, did that mean Dumbledore also had the power to have that offer rescinded?

It was in this state of disquieted distraction that Daphne found Harry a few minutes later, his heart filling with a sense of dread and mind swirling with questions. She had already knocked on the partially open door several times without receiving an answer, so she was starting to grow alarmed. Finally, throwing caution to the wind, she went inside. To say she was surprised to see the object of her search sitting at a desk in the middle of the elegant study barely two meters from the door she had been pounding on, clutching two sheets of parchment, and apparently so lost in thought that he had not heard her enter, was an understatement.

"My Lord," she hailed him softly, not wanting to startle him if she could help it. Taking a step closer, she tried again. Eventually, seeing no alternative, she stood directly beside him and placed her hand on his arm, resisting the urge to shake him from his stupor. "Harry!" she demanded firmly. This was apparently the magic word, for he turned sharply in her direction at the sound of his name.

Still holding the parchment, he spoke to her as if from very far away, "Forgive me, I didn't see you there." Visibly coming back to himself, he set the papers on the desk before doing a double-take and blushing profoundly as he realized precisely who had been sent to accompany him to lunch. "You..um...weren't who I was expecting," he admitted, immediately concerned that he might have offended her with his lack-luster greeting.

To his relief, she just smiled and replied cryptically, "You can blame Professor Lupin and my sister," declining to elaborate despite his questioning look. Running her finger along the surface of the desk as she took a few steps toward the window, she pretended to peruse the sparsely populated shelves as she deliberated on her options. Making a decision, she turned to Harry. "If I may ask...you seemed to have a lot on your mind when I came in. Is it something I might be able to help you with, My Lord?"

"I wish you would use my given name," he told her truthfully, even as he mulled over the idea of talking to her about Ron and the letter. Indeed, as soon as she had suggested it, he couldn't imagine doing otherwise. He needed another perspective...maybe a little reassurance that one false move on his part wouldn't ruin his friend's life. "It's very kind of you to offer," he began, finding himself suddenly preternaturally aware of her presence. It was an odd feeling, simultaneously pleasant and uncomfortable. Shaking it off as best he could, he still noticed by how the light in her eyes dimmed ever so slightly at his words that she clearly believed he was going to brush her off rather than confide in her. The subtle shift in her posture at his next statement elicited a flutter in his chest, confirming for him that she wanted to aid him and that he was making the right choice. "I could use some advice, actually."

Daphne walked back toward him, gently accepting the proffered letter before sitting in a chair on the other side of the imposing desk to read it. Keeping a close eye on her nearly undetectable micro-expressions, he observed hints of indignation, incredulity, and even anger as she processed Dumbledore's words. "My Lord...Harry," she corrected herself. "You don't owe Dumbledore anything. Even if he did manage to influence some admissions decisions, which I frankly doubt given what we know about the panel, it isn't like you asked him to do it. He chose to spend his personal political capital, the Academy chose to either heed or disavow his recommendations, and any aspirants impacted by these efforts will choose to either accept or decline their offers. You are not responsible for any of that."

Considering her words, part of him knew she was right. However, the part of him that was blamed for every single thing that went wrong in the Dursley household- from bad weather to the evening news starting two minutes after the hour...which was the same part that had been expected by the entire wizarding world to fight an evil dark wizard as a teenager by virtue of being the "chosen one," drowned out those logical words. His experiences in his life to date had programmed him to feel obligated to Dumbledore, guilty about the Academy being forced to lower its standards due to the request made on his behalf, and responsible for guaranteeing Ron's success in training. It also made him extremely leery about opposing Dumbledore due to the potential negative effects it could have on Ron or any of the others impacted by the headmaster's machinations. When he tried to explain all of that to her, she looked as if he had given her a few critical pieces to the puzzle of Harry Potter.

"I know it is hard for you not to take on everyone's baggage as your own, but you need to work for some separation. You are only responsible for your own actions and reactions. Say it." Daphne ordered.

"What?" He asked, bewildered.

"I want you to say it, 'I am not responsible for anyone's actions or reactions but my own.'" As he dutifully repeated her words, she knew he didn't yet believe them, but she would get him there.

"Remus will probably send the cavalry soon if we don't head to the dining room," Harry announced as he braced himself against the desk and chair to stand. Unfortunately, the act did not go as smoothly as he would have liked, and he swallowed a gasp of pain. He had grown stiff again after sitting in the chair for too long. Daphne seemed to recognize the problem and swiftly moved to help him to his feet. She frowned as she noted that he was using two crutches again, just as he had the first time she'd seen him following the battle. Forcefully dismissing her recurring concerns about Harry's physical readiness for Auror training, she reminded herself that more than 6 weeks remained before they would be sworn in as cadets. There was plenty of time.

As they exited the study together, she cast a critical eye over his clothes. Wrinkling her nose, she scolded, "Your robes are too big."

"I know," he replied, sounding exhausted. "I didn't realize until after I had changed into them that they didn't fit very well, and it required too much effort to change again."

She pursed her lips, not really approving of his answer. However, she acknowledged that he looked ill enough that she didn't have the heart to badger him about it further...this time. "Are you able to apparate inside the castle?"

"Yes."

"Since we're running so late, it might be for the best if you took us there," she suggested.

"Good call," he agreed. The next thing she knew he had lightly clasped her hand and transported them just outside the dining room with a barely audible pop.

"A little warning next time would be nice, My Lord," Daphne admonished.

"Er...right. Sorry," he apologized sheepishly.

"No harm done; now, after you, My Lord."

"I thought we agreed that you would call me Harry," he tossed over his shoulder as he entered the dining room to an enthusiastic reception.

"I agreed to no such thing," she teased, following him inside.

Everyone in the room had obviously been waiting on the pair, for as soon as Harry claimed his seat at the head of the table, the butler announced, "Lunch is served."

***************************  
1 August 1998 - Arundel Castle - The Library- West Sussex- 2:30pm

As the group filed into the library following their meal, everyone but Hermione and Ron wore expressions of awe. The two Gryffindors, who had lingered behind in the dining room and now protectively flanked Harry on either side, only had eyes for their friend. Still, it was impossible not to be at least a little dazzled by the gleaming and intricately carved woodwork, famous art, and thousands of volumes of books situated over two glorious floors. From the unique lighting to the iconic clock mounted on the railing of the upper level, the room somehow managed to be both inviting and intimidating. The library was indisputably a projection of wealth and power, albeit a cozy one. Astoria broke the silence, murmuring to her sister, "It's quite red, isn't it?"

"Part of its appeal, I'm sure," Daphne replied just as quietly, gaining an appreciation for why Harry was so fond of this place. The raven-haired wizard had mentioned to her more than once that it was his favorite room in the castle.

As Susan and Dean pulled several plush armchairs from around the room closer to the central configuration of furniture, the red-headed Hufflepuff enthusiastically praised their recent meal. "Harry, lunch was amazing, just like dinner last night. Please give my compliments to the kitchen. I would love the recipe for that curried chicken dish."

"Of course," Harry responded, making eye contact with Daphne, whose smirk convinced him that she too was thinking back to Susan's exhibitionist display in the Ministry cafeteria several months ago. He almost burst out laughing as he caught sight of the disgusted look on Astoria's face. To be fair, Susan had made her enjoyment of the afternoon's refection excruciatingly obvious to everyone even before her comment; the witch had practically licked her plate, and she still had a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth that no one had had the heart to point out to her.

Finally, when sufficient seating had been arranged, they each gravitated toward a vacant space. Feeling somewhat mischievous, Hermione gently wrangled Harry over to one of the sumptuous red sofas. Neville, bless him, helped her settle the green-eyed wizard between himself and Daphne Greengrass with a smile. The Longbottom heir had picked up on her intent and approved. Once Harry was comfortable, the others sat down: Astoria took the place to Daphne's left, while Millicent claimed the chair next to Neville. Dean, Hermione, and Ron sat on the sofa opposite the one holding Neville, Harry, and Daphne, and Susan perched in the last armchair, sitting between Dean and Millicent in the oval.

"Should we open our letters now?" Neville asked the group. "The anticipation is killing me," he informed the others, jokingly. Astoria nearly swooned before she noticed Millicent's glare. With Daphne's warnings ringing in her ears, the younger witch reminded herself that there were plenty of fish in the sea, even if Heir Longbottom was an exceptional catch.

Largely oblivious to his appeal and very focused on the decision in his hand, Neville turned to Harry, "On the count of three?"

The next few minutes were tense, as six of their number tore into their envelopes and silently read the parchments containing their fates. Briefly distracted as he broke the wax seal on the letter, Harry was almost certain that he felt the weight of the secrecy vow he had pledged at his exam lift. Interesting. Hermione, Astoria, and Millicent watched as all around the room nervous looks and furrowed brows gave way to relieved expressions and excited smiles on one face after the next like dominoes.

Susan didn't really do solemnity, so she was the first to her feet, shouting a triumphant, "Yes!" before gleefully embracing the unsuspecting Millicent and Dean on either side of her. "I got in!" she informed the others, unnecessarily.

"So did I," chimed in Neville, with just slightly more decorum than the former Hufflepuff. Not to be outdone, Millicent soon pulled him from his seat and proceeded to demonstrate how proud she was of him...with her tongue.

Dragging his eyes away from the surprising public display of affection, impressed that the couple could go so long without breathing, Dean announced, "I was accepted, too!" He couldn't stop smiling; he wondered if Harry would mind if he floo-called his family with the good news.

"Congratulations," Hermione said, clearly pleased for him.

When their host made no move to speak, Daphne made a show of plucking his letter from his hands to read and offering hers to him in exchange."Harry and I made it in as well," she shared for them both, knowing he was thinking about Dumbledore's message.

"I am so happy for you Daphne," Astoria told her sister, "I know this is what you wanted. Congratulations to you, too, My Lord, and the rest of you as well," she added.

"Well?" Hermione prompted, turning to Ron with a smile that quickly faded as she observed his balled fists and clenched jaw.

"I got in, too," he revealed cautiously, "but they put me on academic probation because I didn't have all the scores I needed on my N.E.W.T.s." He figured it made no sense to hide it from them, since Harry and Hermione already knew about his tests, and the letter made it sound like it would be apparent to his classmates that his status was different. Would they make him take extra classes? Perhaps wear a scarlet letter on his cadet robes? Worse, Auror Moody had included a hand-written warning that if he was unable to maintain at least an EE average in his courses, he would be summarily dismissed. His provisional acceptance letter made it very clear that they were taking a chance on him and that it was incumbent upon him to prove it every day, and in every way, that he was worthy of that consideration.

As Ron pondered whether or not his probationary status would last for the full three years, or if a strong academic showing in the first year would put him on the same footing as the other cadets, he missed the room's reactions to his news. Millicent smirked, but quickly schooled her features when she remembered her audience. These people actually liked Weasley. Neither Dean nor Neville appeared too broken up, Hermione looked sympathetic, and Harry paled. Daphne maintained a strictly neutral expression, even as she brushed her hand against Harry's in what she hoped was a comforting gesture that conveyed her understanding and support. Finally looking up from his results, Ron grinned. A provisional acceptance was still an acceptance; he was going to be an Auror!

They heaved a collective sigh when the somewhat volatile ginger didn't snap, and Dean seized the opportunity to speak. "My brother told me that once we sign our letters and owl them back, formally accepting our academy appointments, we'll receive our book lists, squad assignments, and course schedules for our first term."

"What about the second and third terms?" Neville asked.

"Because it is so competitive, and it isn't uncommon for more than half of an incoming cadet class to wash out in the first few months, we won't receive information about the later terms until after our grades from the previous period are finalized," Susan explained.

"That makes sense, I suppose," Harry acknowledged. Neville absently noted that the other wizard appeared less affected by the sobering statistics than the rest of them. Then again, he reasoned when you have defeated Voldemort in wand-to-wand combat, it probably takes a bit more to rattle your cage.

Ruthlessly quashing any negative thoughts, because Daphne planned to become a commissioned Auror or die trying, she asked the group, "Who else do you think received placements?"

"Well, I know Zacharias Smith did, because the prat fire-called me this morning to give me the news. It was a good thing I hadn't eaten yet, or I might have lost my breakfast," Susan reported with uncharacteristic vitriol. She really hated that arsehole.

In a tone that thankfully only Daphne could definitively interpret, Astoria commented, lightly, "He must be awful, since I imagine it takes a lot to put you off your food."

Oblivious to the mild slight, Susan agreed, "He was my least favorite member of Hufflepuff house and remains the biggest...toss pot I've had the misfortune to meet, well, baring Voldemort and his death eaters, I guess," she amended, appearing to give serious consideration as to whether some of the death eaters might actually be preferable company to Smith.

Ron, who was no fan of Zacharias, started chuckling, and it wasn't long before everyone joined in. "I just hope he isn't in my squad," Susan wished fervently. "It's a miracle he didn't have an accident while we were at school, if you know what I mean. I am not sure I could guarantee that his luck would hold if I were to be teamed up with him in any capacity on a regular basis." The pronouncement from the mild-mannered Hufflepuff set off another wave of laughter, even though, or perhaps because, it didn't seem like she was kidding.

"What's a squad?" Hermione asked, curiously. It was the second time one of them had mentioned the grouping that afternoon.

"Like in most military or law enforcement organizations, the academy squads are made up of groups of eight cadets. There are two squads in a section, and usually four squads in every cadet class or platoon," Susan informed her.

Jumping in, Dean added, "There are two fire teams within each squad, though most of the time, cadets, like fully commissioned Aurors, work in pairs. My brother said that they won't partner us up until about half-way through the first term."

"Do we get to pick our partners?" Ron inquired, intending to pair up with Harry, since they had already proven how well they worked together.

Susan shook her head, "No, in our first year, I think our platoon commander, who is usually a third year cadet, in conjunction with the Commandant, select our partners for us. In our later years, the squad chiefs might also have a voice in the process. I've heard we have different partners every year, though."

"What happens if your partner is dismissed?"

"I imagine there are very few circumstances under which only one member of a pair would be forced to leave the academy," surmised Daphne.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, what is it they say? Right...Teamwork makes the dream work."

"Our resident poet and philosopher has spoken," cracked Ron, which caused Hermione to smack him on the shoulder. "Hey!"

"Thank you, Hermione. I have no idea how we are going to keep this lout in check without you," Dean teased.

"Between Susan, Daphne, and Harry, I'm sure you'll manage, though I must warn you all, it is a big job," she joked.

"So we've gathered," Neville piled on with a grin.

"Merlin!" exclaimed Ron, joining in the game. "A guy can't fly a car into the Whomping Willow one time without getting a reputation."

Once the sniggering died down, Susan couldn't stop herself from mentioning what had really bothered her about Smith's call and someone who had been on her mind quite a few times over the last month. Some days it was hard for her to remember that it had happened, hard for her to believe it was real. They hadn't been best friends by any stretch, but he had been a constant presence in her life for the last seven years, and she had been with him when he died. "You know what else?" Susan began, "The whole time Smith was talking to me through the floo, he never mentioned Ernie, not once. The only reason Ernie was even in the village that morning was because Zacharias needed new trousers, and he was the only one of us too nice to refuse to go with him." Tears streamed down her face as she recalled the events of that day, and their collective thoughts inevitably turned to the MacMillans. If tragedy hadn't struck, it wasn't inconceivable that the Hufflepuff would have been sitting here with them today, looking forward to his time at the Academy. Susan had naturally known him best, seeing as they had been in the same house at school, but he was familiar to all of them because of his time in their defense study group. As this was their first chance to really talk since that day in Hogsmeade, it was only natural that there would be questions.

"I heard his parents decided to keep the memorial small, with just family and close friends," Neville said.

Noticing immediately how those words affected Harry, Hermione wasn't surprised to hear him ask, "When did they hold the service for him?"

"July 1st," Susan revealed, eyes still wet, though she was no longer crying. "I attended with my Auntie; only a few people outside the family were invited. The Minister posthumously awarded him an Order of Merlin, 2nd Class."

Harry wondered if Ernie's parents blamed him, or even Zacharias, for their son's death. He wouldn't fault them if they did. He knew objectively that the only ones truly responsible were the death eaters who had killed the Hufflepuff, but it didn't keep him from feeling guilty about the fact that he had survived, while Ernie - who had a bright future ahead of him and a family who loved him - had not.

"What happened? Do any of you know?" Dean asked, his voice grim. "The Prophet reported his death, but no details."

"He was attacked at Scrivenshaft's," Hermione divulged in a hoarse whisper, voice catching as her eyes burned and her throat tightened. Several of her companions turned to her in surprise, but Susan avoided her gaze, knowing if she didn't, she would start crying again. Clearing her throat and blinking rapidly, Hermione continued. "Padma, Michael Corner, and I found him injured in the quill shop as soon as we left the Hogs Head. The shop owner and two other customers, none of whom had been seriously injured, told us that masked figures had stormed the shop. As soon as we saw him, we could tell Ernie's situation was dire. We performed some basic first aid, to buy him as much time as we could, but it was clear that he needed professional medical assistance right away. We knew it was risky to transport him with open wounds and obvious internal bleeding and trauma, but he had no chance if we didn't at least try to get him to the infirmary or St. Mungos as soon as possible. After contacting Susan so they could prepare for his arrival, I used one of the portkeys Harry had created to get him to Hogwarts."

She took a few steadying breaths, wiping her eyes, as she relived the experience. "I have no idea how long Ernie laid there, bleeding out, before we arrived."

Susan picked up the heart-breaking story once it became apparent that Hermione wasn't going to say anything else. "Seamus met Hermione at the gates and brought Ernie straight to Madam Pomfrey. As soon as I arrived in the infirmary, Seamus took up my position on the third floor. Evacuees from the village had been arriving through the Honeydukes passage all day, and someone needed to be there to receive them. I stayed in the hospital wing, waiting on news about Ernie and helping the matron as much as I could, restocking supplies and the like. She decided it was too dangerous to transport him again, so a team from St. Mungos came through to work on him. I didn't understand most of what they were doing, but it seemed like he was going to be okay. The healers had managed to stop the bleeding." She finally looked at Hermione, stating, "They said the initial treatment he received was the only reason he lasted as long as he did."

The bushy-haired witch nodded mechanically, taking some distant solace in the fact that their attempt to heal their classmate hadn't inadvertently hastened his demise.

No one said anything to break the silence, no matter how much they wanted to know what had gone wrong. Harry and the others correctly intuited that any interruptions or attempts to hasten the telling might prevent Susan from continuing. "Unfortunately," the witch's voice wavered, "that success was only temporary. He started bleeding again within the hour. Nothing the healers tried worked for very long, as they had not been able to determine exactly which spells had been used. Between the blood loss, Dark magic, and an allergic reaction to the sheer volume of blood replenishing potions he had been dosed with in an attempt to keep him alive long to enough to identify an effective treatment, he eventually succumbed to his injuries. He...he never regained consciousness," she finished with a sob.

In order to give Susan some time to collect herself, Millie proffered the small piece of information she had about the situation, "My brother told me that the preliminary witness statements and memories suggested that Yaxley and Avery were the two death eaters who conducted the attack that killed Ernie, though there may have been others involved as well. However, since Yaxley was killed in Hogsmeade, and Avery died in a Ministry holding cell, I don't know how easy it will be for the Aurors to formally charge them."

Mostly recovered, Susan found herself seriously considering mentioning Matthew Bulstrode's loose lips to her Aunt Amelia, since this was the second time she had been made privy to his lack of discretion about Auror business in just the last 4 months. Regardless, she was begrudgingly impressed with Millicent's intelligence gathering. She had been unsuccessful in wheedling any information about Ernie's case from her Aunt, despite multiple attempts.

Neville, who had been ruminating over a different aspect of what Millie had shared, proposed, "If the Ministry took their wands into evidence, maybe there would be enough there for the DMLE to levy charges? At the least, it might allow the MacMillans to pursue a civil suit against the two houses, if they were so inclined."

Susan absently agreed with Neville's assessment as she took in the haunted looks on the faces of everyone around her. Hermione was wan, and Harry, in particular, appeared as though he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. She suddenly felt bad for bringing everyone down; they were supposed to be celebrating, not mourning. "Forgive me," she plead softly, eyes on her lap as she picked at a loose thread on her robes. "I guess I haven't achieved as much closure as I thought." The warm hand on her shoulder was like an enervate, waking her from her dazed reverie. She raised her head and found herself looking into Dean's kind brown eyes and sympathetic face.

The next thing she knew, he had licked his thumb and was bringing the wet digit toward her face. Before she could protest, he started scrubbing. At her horrified expression, he explained, "Sorry, you um...had some chocolate, just there," demonstrating the offending location on the corner of his own mouth.

A hundred scathing remarks about personal space and the fact that saliva was an inappropriate, not to mention disgusting, cleaning fluid were on the tip of her tongue, but as she opened her mouth to let him have it, she was suddenly struck by the hilarity of the situation. Maybe it was the emotional strain of the last 20 minutes, or maybe it was because the idea that an 18 year old wizard would use spit to wash the apparently chocolate-encrusted face of an 18 year old witch whom he didn't really know that well, was objectively funny; either way, Susan was soon laughing so hard that she nearly slid to the floor in her hysterics. She vaguely noted that the others were directing increasingly concerned looks her way, so she felt compelled to reassure them, as soon as she could speak, that is. Wiping away tears of mirth, she declared, "I'm fine, really...nothing to see here."

Trying to deflect some attention away from Susan so she could finish composing herself, Hermione asked the group what they thought about Cormac McLaggen's prospects for the academy. "He bragged to me at least once a week that he was going to become the youngest Head Auror in history," she divulged. "It was like some kind of demented mating ritual."

"I can't fathom a circumstance in which he made it past the interview portion," Neville opined.

"I concur with Heir Longbottom," Daphne announced formally. "The psychological evaluation component of the interview had to have immediately revealed him to be a pathological narcissist."

"I don't know," Ron weighed in, "He can be pretty charming when he wants to be...he might have been able to pull the wool over the examiners' eyes for 20 minutes."

"No way, mate," disagreed Dean, "You can tell McLaggen is a grade-A arsehole within 5 seconds of meeting him. He couldn't have made it in."

"But really..." Harry countered, "it isn't like extreme wanker-hood is a disqualifying condition for the corps. We know there are plenty of serving Aurors who are complete tossers."

"Yeah, like Proudfoot," Daphne muttered darkly under her breath, subconsciously rubbing the spot on her leg where she had taken a cutting curse at Hogsmeade.

"I guess we'll have to see," Susan agreed. "I mean they let Smith in, how much worse could McLaggen be?"

Dean snorted, "Let me put it this way, if the destructive power of arseholery were measured on a Richter-style scale, Smith would be a 6.5 and McLaggen would be an 8.7."

"While I don't know exactly what that means," Susan admitted, "I gather you are implying McLaggen is a bigger areshole than Smith?" She sounded skeptical.

"An exponentially greater arsehole," Dean confirmed, seriously. Hermione was giggling at the direction of the discussion, as were several others. Even though not many of them were familiar with the concept of the Richter scale, they all knew what a jerk Cormac was.

As the sun moved closer to the horizon, a tea service was brought in and talk turned to even less consequential topics, like the new Falcon series racing brooms that Cleansweep would be releasing later in the month. "I also read that the Firebolt corporation is experimenting with a new prototype that they hope to have on the market some time next year," Daphne said excitedly. It amused Hermione to hear the extremely proper Slytherin witch gushing over a racing broom of all things.

"Yeah, I heard something about that," Ron interjected with his mouth full of cake, earning him a withering look from Astoria. Noisily swallowing his food, he continued, "They are reportedly calling it the Thunderbolt, or maybe the Lighteningbolt...I don't think they've decided yet."

By the time their gossip about who was doing what to whom at the Ministry was no longer even thinly disguised as a debate on current events, Daphne noticed that Harry had fallen asleep on the sofa next to her. He didn't look very comfortable, with his head propped against the firm cushions on the camel back, facing slightly toward Neville. Her first instinct was to wake him, as she assumed he was merely dozing and would undoubtedly be terribly embarrassed when he discovered what had happened. Upon further consideration, however, she decided that because the legislative session was likely to run quite late tonight, it would probably do him some good to get a quick nap in, especially since she was aware he wasn't feeling particularly well. Given how much difficulty he had had getting up from his desk earlier, though, she knew she couldn't let him remain in his current awkward position. Now, how to go about moving him without disturbing him?

"Neville," she called softly, quickly gaining the gentle Gryffindor's attention before directing it to the their companion. Unfortunately, this had alerted everyone to the situation, but she supposed it had only been a matter of time before they all found out anyway, and they were all friends here...or at least they were all Harry's friends; she would never claim Weasley as anything, though she reluctantly admitted the others had grown on her.

Surprisingly, Weasley was the first to identify the issue. "We can't leave him like that, it isn't good for his back."

"What's wrong with his back?" Dean asked quietly, clearly confused.

"It's broken," Hermione retorted bluntly, though she too kept her voice low, "in several places," she added.

Dean looked horrified, "I had no idea...I thought it was just his leg."

"I do think his left leg or hip is also injured," Daphne speculated.

"He acquired a host of injuries in his confrontation with Voldemort," Hermione confirmed sadly, locking eyes with Ron, but refusing to say any more.

She saw the same concerns about Harry's ability to attend the Academy that she had been harboring flash briefly across the dark-skinned wizard's face, but, like her, he wisely chose to keep his own counsel on the subject.

Taking charge, Daphne stood and began transfiguring pillows from tissues she had spied in a box on the table next to Astoria's chair. "It would probably be easiest on him if we used magic to move him," offered Millicent.

Daphne shook her head, "It would wake him instantly if one of us cast something on him directly. In fact, I am honestly surprised this didn't disturb him, as sensitive as he is to ambient magic," she said with a frown, gesturing to the pillows she had made.

"Neville, you stay right there," Daphne commanded quietly, as she piled several of her transfigured cushions around him, even setting one on his lap. She put one of the pillows off to the side, clearly having other plans for it.

"Weasley, Thomas, get over here," she beckoned softly but with such authority that neither hesitated to obey. "I think it would be best if we can lay him across the couch, preferably without waking him up. He can rest his head here by Neville, and I'll put this one behind his knees."

"I can sit somewhere else," Neville said.

"No, if we lay his head on these pillows in your lap, we're helping create an angle that takes pressure off his spine," Daphne explained, sounding more confident than she felt.

It was agreed that they would be less likely to inadvertently hurt Harry if only one of them moved him. To that end, Ron leaned over, placing one knee on the couch, and slipped his arms under Harry's knees and torso, carefully lifting him in order to shift him from his current vertical position to a horizontal one. As Ron gently extricated himself, evoking barely more than a twitch from Harry, he knew they had been successful. Daphne placed the designated pillow under his knees and started to remove his shoes before Neville stopped her. "Daphne..." he called, tone low but no less urgent, "I think you should have Dean or Ron do that."

Eyes wide, she drew back from Harry quickly as if she'd been burned. "Really? Even if it's just removing his shoes?" She asked in disbelief.

"I don't know," Neville admitted, "but he is asleep, so he won't be able to exert any conscious control over the Family Magic, and you would technically be undressing him. Better safe than sorry, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded begrudgingly and gestured for the red head to finish making Harry more comfortable. Ron went to pull off the trainers when he heard, "Oy, Weasley! You just said his leg was hurt...don't over-extend, be gentle, for Merlin's sake." It was Millicent who had spoken; she knew more than most about working with injured animals, and rightly assumed the same principles would apply. Paling at the thought that he might have caused his friend pain, Ron was exceptionally cautious as he untied the laces and eased the shoes off Harry's feet.

Once everyone had resettled, their conversations resumed, although at a more subdued volume than before. Eventually the exchange turned toward their respective entrance exam days. They very quickly determined that they could speak far more freely about the topic than they had been able to do previously. "It's probably because the cycle is officially over now that we've received our results," Dean hypothesized. "Maybe something in our formal decisions relieved us of our vows." The others nodded in agreement, because it was a reasonable supposition.

The woman that was sometimes touted as the brightest witch of the age was interested in how such a thing might work, so she asked if she could examine one of the letters. Daphne gave her Harry's, since she knew he wouldn't mind, and it was the most readily accessible since it was sitting on the coffee table between the two sofas. They left her to it, and Astoria thought, not for the first time, that surely there had never been a more egregious mis-sorting than Hermione Granger in the entire history of the school.

"There was a bloke in my exam group, James Blackwood, that I'm sure was accepted," Ron told them. "He could really duel. I didn't recognize half the spells he was using when we engaged the Death Eaters." The red head's proclamation was followed by awkward silence as all 6 people actively following the conversation studiously avoided revealing their lack of surprise at the other wizard's ignorance...well, 5 of them anyway. Astoria Greengrass apparently couldn't be bothered with such social niceties, which garnered her an exasperated sigh from her sister and a wink from Dean Thomas.

Neville spoke next, "There were several really talented people in our cohort, don't you think, Dean?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if nearly everyone from our group who received an interview was offered a place."

"Neville..." Susan began, tentatively, "Is there a reason you're petting Harry like a cat?"

Not looking the slightest bit embarrassed at having been caught out, he said, "At first, I was just trying to make sure he didn't wake up after he stirred. But, his hair is so soft, I couldn't stop."

Daphne ignored the decidedly hungry look on Millicent's face, rationalizing that almost everyone at Hogwarts had probably imagined what it would be like to be part of a threesome with Potter and Longbottom at least once. She also made a concerted effort to redirect her mind away from fantasies involving running her fingers through midnight locks as smooth as silk. What was wrong with her? This was clearly neither the time nor the place.

Rejoining the chat, and enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and easy camaraderie, Daphne was disappointed to feel the alarm she had set to ensure she and Astoria arrived home before their curfew. It was sadly time to leave, though she was very much looking forward to tonight's proceedings. "Unfortunately, Astoria and I need to get going, as our parents wanted us home by 5:30pm," she announced as she rose to her feet.

"Is it that late already?" Neville asked in disbelief, squinting at the large 19th century clock across the room to confirm the time. "Should we wake him up do you think? It's nearly time for him to start getting ready."

In lieu of a verbal response, Daphne walked over to the sofa and knelt in front of Harry's sleeping form. Unable to resist, she ran a hand lightly through his hair - it was ridiculously soft- and brushed her fingers over his cheek, frowning because they hadn't thought to remove his glasses. Sloppy. His inky black eyelashes fluttered and soon she was treated to a view of his nearly luminescent green eyes. She was sitting close enough to him that she could detect the very instant that he realized where he was and what must have happened. Sitting up quickly with the help of both her and Neville, the first word out of his mouth was, of course, an apology. Something else she needed to work with him on. "No worries mate," Neville reassured him with a smile.

"It made it much easier to talk about you behind your back," Millicent added with a mischievous grin, which made Harry laugh. The look Neville shot his girlfriend in gratitude for her assistance made Daphne feel like she should go to a Healer for a pregnancy test just for being in such close proximity without the requite protection.

Pulling herself together, her sister offered her a hand up from the floor. As she stood, she smoothed her robes and looked first at Harry and then the rest of the group. She noted that most of the others were collecting their belongings, though not Weasley or Granger. She idly wondered if they too would be seated in the gallery this evening. "Thank you so much for having us, My Lord," Daphne thanked their host, curtsying, as her sister deftly did the same.

Neville had managed to help him to his feet by the time Harry replied, sincerely, "Thank you for coming." He then turned to address Astoria directly, "I'm glad you could make it also." Astoria convincingly played the part of the innocent ingenue, blushing prettily on command. If only her sister would use her powers for good. Giving their regards to Heir Longbottom, Millicent, and the others, they headed from the library to the great hall. A much steadier Harry, she was pleased to note, accompanied them. She mused that perhaps he had only needed some rest after the party, making her doubly glad she had gone to some lengths to make him comfortable instead of immediately waking him.

"I'll see you in a few hours," Daphne promised, as she jumped through the floo with Astoria on her heels.

It was time for Harry to start getting ready for his big night.

***************************

1 August 1998 - Wizengamot Chamber- Ministry of Magic - London- 8:35pm

Remarkably, despite Remus' dire predictions to the contrary, Harry had managed to slip into the upper row of the chamber where the Black seat was located completely unnoticed. He had opted to participate in the session from the box accorded to House Black for purely practical reasons: namely, that it was not currently occupied and that it was positioned very close to the door. Harry was slightly concerned about the political message that people would potentially read into the choice, but he decided he could worry about that later, as he had quite enough on his plate already without borrowing trouble.

Considering the pomp and pageantry surrounding him, it was no wonder he had been able to enter the Wizengamot undetected...that and a subtle Notice-Me-Not charm that miraculously had not been cancelled by the wards on the chamber. For, in the midst of the literal and metaphorical circus into which the stately body had transformed, where members laughed and joked and many flitted like multi-colored butterflies from one grouping to the next, a single dark-robed figure thankfully drew little attention.

Straightening his new robes, he subconsciously pulled at the right-hand side of his collar where the pin Andi had gifted him that evening, which bore four gold bars to indicate his rank within the peerage, weighed heavily. While it wasn't nearly as ostentatious as the white fur miniver bars edged with gold oak-leaf lace he'd been told would grace his robes should he take his seat in the muggle House of Lords in three years, it was still a visible reminder for him of the chasm between what he was and what others expected of him. Vowing to stop allowing his wardrobe accessories to give him a complex, he refocused on the proceedings.

Just in time, it seemed, for less than a minute later, Minister Scrimgeour entered through the main door accompanied by several Undersecretaries and department heads, including the Chief Auror, who brandished a large staff and bellowed, "Hats off, strangers!" Commanding those in the central lobby and public galleries to remove their head coverings in deference to the highest ranking commoner in their realm. It all possessed a rather ritualistic quality, and Harry found himself curious about its origins.

Once the Minister and his retinue took their places, standing in front of the row of seats which flanked both sides of a large, raised dais which was currently vacant, the room quieted and the rest of its denizens clambered to their feet. With the theatre that Harry had come to expect, Albus Dumbledore burst onto the scene and stalked purposefully to the empty podium on the central dais, his aura and robes both flaring dramatically around him. While the Chief Warlock's midnight blue attire might have been tame compared to his usual sartorial choices, Harry was amused to note that the robes were still trimmed in what appeared to be stars sewn in thread made from actual silver. The sound of the ceremonial gavel echoing in the chamber silenced any residual chatter. "It is 8:49pm, and the sun has just set over London. As the festival Sabbat of Lammas is officially upon us, I call this session of the Wizengamot to order. My Lords and Ladies, pray be seated."

Dumbledore looked pointedly around the chamber, making eye contact with members from each of the political factions, as if to remind them that he, the Chief Warlock, still had the floor and that they should conduct themselves accordingly. Andromeda had spent the last several weeks drilling the policy positions, pet issues, and political affiliations of the other 49 members of the Wizengamot into his head. He was by no means an expert, but he had the general lay of the land at this point and could identify most sitting Lords or Ladies on sight. He had also paid particular attention to the others' views on the Chief Warlock. Interestingly, though perhaps not surprisingly, nearly everyone was willing to go on record about their feelings, and almost no one was neutral. Say what you will about the wizard, but he certainly seemed to inspire strong feelings- both positive and negative - in most beings. He heard a wry, "This ought to be good," from the box to his right.

If Andi's seating chart was accurate, then the speaker was Liam Muldoon, Baron Fermanagh. He occupied one of the 10 hereditary seats in the Wizengamot, each of which controlled three votes in the body. Harry knew that this Muldoon was a descendent of Bardock Muldoon, the famous Chief of the Wizards' Council who had in the 14th century grappled with the issue of determining beast versus being as it pertained to participation in magical governance, albeit unsuccessfully. Lady Longbottom informed him that Liam Muldoon had been a staunch ally of House Potter in the past and currently voted with the neutral faction solely due to his intense dislike of Albus Dumbledore, who, despite the requisite impartiality demanded by his position as Chief Officer of the Wizengamot, still led the progressive or 'light' faction, as they liked to call themselves, in everything but name. Andi had advised him to make initial contact with Muldoon if the opportunity presented itself, as he was acknowledged as a man of strong and noble principles who also happened to be very politically astute.

"Lord and Lady Magic, Bringer and Creator of Abundance, we honor thee," intoned the Chief Warlock in a traditional Lammas invocation. "Lammas is the celebration of the first harvest, and as we now reap the bounty of the peace that has been sown, we must reflect on the opportunity that we have been given. We find ourselves halfway between the Summer Solstice and the Autumnal Equinox; a season of change and a time to consider what we can do to grow even stronger. For, the fullness and fulfillment of this peace, which is our hard-won reward - our harvest, if you will- already holds at its very heart the seed of all our future progress." Like any good orator, Dumbledore wielded his words like a weapon, inspiring hope in the hearts of friends and fear in the hearts of foes. "Each day may now be shorter than the last, but even as the wheel turns and summer recedes while the nights become longer, we have nonetheless, with the defeat of the self-styled Lord Voldemort, finally left the darkness behind us. For how long will we bask in the light? That, my honored Lords and Ladies, is something only you can decide."

Harry was extremely grateful that he was not sitting in the Potter seat. Nearly every eye in the chamber was fixed on House Potter's box, and Elphias Doge was wilting under the body's growing ire over what many were beginning to view as his unlawful occupation of it. The entire wizarding world knew that Harry Potter had turned 18 yesterday, and few could conceive why a lackey of the Chief Warlock still held the seat now that its rightful owner was of age. Those who suggested Lord Potter might still be recovering from his battle with Voldemort were reminded of his very public birthday celebration the previous evening. While it had been obvious to those who had been in attendance that the young lord was not yet completely over the events of late June, he had certainly appeared to be well enough to attend this session; so where was he? The more conspiratorially-minded among them believed a political plot was afoot.

Studiously ignoring the body's swell of discontent, Dumbledore continued his opening statement, "It is incumbent upon us few, who have been entrusted with crafting and implementing the laws of our world, to chose which buds to nurture and which to trim away; to determine which paths to keep and which paths to leave, so that we may let go of what no longer serves us and make things better for our families; our society; and all that is in the embrace of Magic."

Looking out over the sea of faces, the Chief Warlock, apparently satisfied that his words had inspired the appropriate introspection, concluded his remarks per tradition, "Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I pray that the blessing of the God and Goddess May rest upon your counsels."

Pausing for only a moment, he referred to his agenda for the session and announced, "Our first order of business is to swear in new members." Selecting a thin scroll from the stack on his podium and untying it, Dumbledore briefly reviewed its content before speaking, "Would Mr. Randolph Spudmore, nominated by the Minister and vetted by this body's Appointments Commission to receive the honor of a life peerage for contributions in the fields of magical aerodynamics; charms; and sport, please rise, take out his wand, and swear the vow of office as set forth by the Promissory Oaths Act of 1868."

Harry craned his neck in order to get a proper look at the man who had designed the Firebolt racing broom. The wizard in question was sitting in the middle tier of seats, where Andi had explained the bulk of the 20 members appointed as life peers to the Wizengamot were located within the chamber. Life Peers were typically appointed for providing services to the realm, making advancements in magic, or sometimes merely for donating large sums of gold to various wizarding institutions. Each of these peers commanded two votes and served for life unless they were expelled for misconduct. All in all, Spudmore wasn't exactly what Harry had been expecting. He wasn't very tall, and he had large ears and a smooth face which made it difficult to discern his age. The little hair Harry could see due to the wizard's severely receding hairline was a dark brown, but he was too far away to make out the shade of Spudmore's eyes. The inventor of the Firebolt appeared to be very nervous, as both his voice and wand hand shook noticeably when he made his vow.

"Welcome, Baronet Spudmore, henceforth known in this chamber as Sir Randolph or Sir Spudmore, in accordance with his wishes."

As clapping was expressly prohibited in the chamber, a chorus of 'hear hears' broke out across the room to congratulate their newest member.

"Next, we have three newly elected representatives to swear in: Mr. Calogrenant Bell, Ms. Allegra Hamblin, and Mr. Safir 'Ali."

One after the other, the elected officials took their oaths. These members sat in the front row of seats along the two sides of the chamber to the left and right of the Chief Warlock's podium. After being nominated to stand for office by sitting members of the Wizengamot, they were voted in by the wizarding public to serve for 7 year terms. However, as there were no term limits, many of the elected officials had been in place longer than some of the life peers. Each elected member of the Wizengamot controlled a single vote. Harry believed that elected members might also enjoy special privileges related to the introduction of legislation, but he couldn't recall the specifics at the moment.

Harry was quite surprised when Dumbledore neglected to call his name, as he had assumed the scroll, like Hogwarts' roll book, automatically updated itself through some arcane magic within the chamber. Apparently, he was mistaken. Regardless, Harry knew that he, like the others, had to swear an oath in order to serve. Should he stand to be recognized by the Chief Warlock so the oversight could be corrected? While he deliberated about what he should do, Lady Longbottom rose and drew her wand, summoning one of two red pointed hats sitting on the low table in front of the Chief Warlock's dais. Removing her own customary Vulture hat in order to place the garish, wide-brimmed cover on her head, she loudly declared, "Point of Order, Point of Order!"

Dumbledore regarded the Dowager Countess in his most patronizing manner and had the audacity to shake his head at her as if she were a misbehaving child in whom he was greatly disappointed. Taking a deep breath, because she wouldn't do her burgeoning political alliance any good if she managed to get herself thrown out of the chamber for hexing the smug bastard, she held her tongue while he rebuked her for her interruption and ordered her to resume her seat. "Your delay tactics are unwelcome and improper at this juncture, Lady Longbottom. As I have not yet opened the floor for new business or debate, what violation of rule or process could you possibly have to take issue with?"

Giving him a predatory smile, which Augusta lamented wasn't as intimidating as it should have been since she had been forced to don the ridiculous red hat in order to register her objection, she acknowledged, "I agree that it is quite shameful that you have managed to break the rules governing this honorable body within the first fifteen minutes of convening the session, and without even having opened the floor. It must be a record," she mused, "and surely ample grounds for a vote on your fitness for office. Still, I had not expected you to own up to your incompetence so freely, as you are not exactly known for admitting your shortcomings, no matter how obvious or numerous they may be."

Augusta smirked internally, though she consciously displayed an outward piety toward the sanctity of the proceedings that fooled precisely no one, as several other members of the Wizengamot demonstrated their support by waving their order papers, banging on their tables, and raucously shouting, "hear, hear."

Dumbledore's beard was definitely in a twist, if his thunderous expression and narrowed, non-twinkling eyes were anything to go by. "The Right Honorable Lady is to address me as Chief Warlock while we are in this chamber." His blustery demand came off as petty, which he seemed to realize almost immediately. Augusta honestly hadn't had this much fun in years.

"Chief Warlock," she emphasized his title, bowing her head in a blatantly exaggerated way, knowing she wouldn't be the only one to use Dumbledore's misstep to tweak his nose or make snide insinuations about his position during this evening's session. "My point of order has not yet been addressed." She had considered laying it on thicker, but found herself unable to be more obsequious to him, even in jest.

"Lady Longbottom, if this is some form of political chicanery, you will be expelled from this session and your votes held in abeyance," he threatened her calmly. How dare he!

"I am offended by your suggestion that I would deign to engage in such activities, Chief Warlock, but in the interest of moving this session along, I will forego a demand for satisfaction...for now."

Her statement caused a mild uproar in the chamber...had the Dowager Countess implied she was reserving her right to challenge Albus Dumbledore, the defeater of Grindelwald, to an honor duel? Enterprising souls in the public gallery began calculating potential betting odds on the outcome, and money surreptitiously changed hands. "In point of fact, Chief Warlock Dumbledore, you have neglected to swear in one of our number, and you cannot legally advance the business of this chamber until you have fulfilled this duty."

Taken aback by her accusation, which he had clearly not been expecting, he stated, "There are a number of open seats this evening, it is true, but we have yet to debate on who shall stand for these vacancies. So, just who is it that you are claiming remains to be sworn in, Lady Augusta?"

"It seems I must add senility to the list of reasons for which you are no longer equipped to hold your office, Chief Warlock." Before he could retort, she continued, "I am of course referring to Lord Potter, who as of yesterday, is eligible to hold his seats in this chamber."

Dumbledore visibly calmed and adopted a suitably grave tone as he informed the assemblage, "I am afraid His Grace was unable to attend this session on account of poor health." He held up a hand to silence the verbal reactions precipitated by his statement, falling just short of calling them to order. "Fear not, My Lords and Ladies, I am sure he will be well enough to take his seat by Samhain." Turning to address Augusta directly, he gestured to the still cowering Doge, "As you can see, Lady Longbottom, Lord Potter's proxy is here in his stead."

Scoffing audibly, Augusta responded with alacrity, "Once we have the matter of the new member resolved, I move to have the Chief Warlock's eyes examined, because as he can see, Lord Potter sits in this very chamber in the other seat to which His Grace has claim...I speak of course of the long-vacant seat belonging to the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black." Chaos reigned in the chamber at her triumphant announcement. The look on Dumbledore's face when his eyes scanned the boxes in the shadowed upper tier and saw Harry in his black robes bearing the crests of both of his houses would be source material for Augusta's patronus from this day forward.

Finally, Dumbledore seemed to remember he had a job to do, and he called the representatives to order, threatening the next person who spoke without being recognized with a silencing charm for the duration of the proceedings. "My sincerest apologies to my Wizengamot colleagues, and Lady Longbottom in particular, for it appears that I have indeed overlooked one of our new members. I was told that the Duke of Norfolk would regrettably be absent this evening, so his name was missing from the scroll," Dumbledore rationalized to the group. Harry decided he had more important political points to score than to question the Chief Warlock about who precisely had shared those intentions with him, because it certainly hadn't been Harry himself. "Would His Grace, Harry Potter, the Duke of Norfolk and Earl of Dartmouth, rightful holder the Potter and Black hereditary seats in this chamber, please come to the podium so that he may swear his vow upon the the sacred Tome of Sancus and the Rod of Horkos?"

Harry had, perhaps naively, not anticipated that his oath of allegiance would markedly differ from the vows he had observed the other Wizengamot members swear that evening. Though, it was admittedly reasonable for those who could not be removed from their positions except through extraordinary means, and whose seats carried more votes and were passed through family lines in perpetuity, to be held to a considerably higher standard when it came to faithfully discharging the duties of office. It wasn't the oath he took issue with, rather, it was the difficulty he knew he was going to have making it down the stairs and to the front of the chamber. Regardless, he acknowledged the Warlock's request and stood, only moderately successful at keeping the pain that the movement caused him off his face. As Harry steeled himself for the trip down the aisle, Liam Muldoon stood in order to be recognized by Dumbledore.

"Chief Warlock," the Baron Fermanagh spoke, not waiting for the old wizard to call on him, "I respectfully request that, in view of Lord Potter's injuries, a page be instructed to bring the Tome and Rod to him so that he may swear his vow from his box. Similar allowances have been made for others in the past," he added, having no idea whether or not that was true, but not particularly caring, because if ever there was a person who deserved a dispensation, in his opinion, it was the young man to his left.

"I second the request," announced a new voice from the center of the upper tier of seats. It was Boniface Bragge, the Viscount Falmouth. Another hereditary member of the body, he was a descendent of a well-known Chief of the Wizards' Council, Barberus Bragge, who Harry was mostly familiar with because of his contributions to the sport of Quidditch. In the 13th century, he introduced the golden snidget to the game on a whim, offering the player who managed to catch it a King's ransom for the time, 150 galleons. While a decided step back for animal rights, his actions did ultimately pave the way for the position of seeker and the use of the snitch in modern-day quidditch; a situation for which Harry was personally quite thankful.

Soon, Lifetime Peers Abbott, Bulstrode, and Bones had also spoken in support, along with elected members Diggory, Brown, and Fawcett. Nearly every voice in favor was either a member of Dumbledore's own faction or reliable cross-benchers who regularly voted with the progressives. Thus, seeing no reason to deny the request, and every reason to grant it, given its broad support in the chamber and the fact that it would reflect a degree of magnanimity that he always strove to project, Dumbledore ordered the page to bring the sacred objects to Harry.

As Harry solemnly gripped the Rod of Horkos, so named presumably for the demon-protector of honor from Greek Mythology who was said to personify the curse that would befall an oath breaker, he nearly dropped it. The Rod seemed like it might actually be possessed by a demon or spirit. Why had no one told him to expect that? He shuddered slightly, because the inky power that resonated from the artifact was disconcerting at first, but he immediately dismissed the idea that the object had been corrupted. It felt semi-sentient, and annoyed by the ambient level of dishonesty in the chamber, but basically benevolent. He made a vague effort to soothe the spirit, or tried to anyway, as the last thing he wanted was for the presence in the Rod to be angry as he used it to make a binding vow upon his life and magic. The response to his efforts was unexpected to say the least.

The Wizengamot chamber began to transform. Everything became lighter, brighter, cleaner. A large tree sprung up in the middle of the floor, sprouting flowers and fruits. There was an explosion of plants and greenery, as vines crawled along the backs of the boxes and bench seats in each tier until soon the room looked more like a garden or forest than a legislative chamber.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried Dumbledore. Only minor spells were supposed to work in the chamber, great feats of magic such as this should not have been possible under the heavy wards. Even the Elder wand had not been able to do more than simple charms and basic spells; the most he had ever managed was to stupefy someone, which had been considered a rather impressive achievement at the time.

The two longest serving members of the Wizengamot lit their wands to be recognized. The Chief Warlock barely managed to see them through the tree branches currently obscuring his view. "Sir Ogden, you have the floor."

Tiberius Ogden, of Fire Whisky fame, informed the body, "Something a bit like this happened when Charlus Potter was sworn in in 1942, though it wasn't quite so...colorful, as I recall."

"Madam Marchbanks, you have something to add?" Dumbledore prompted, formally recognizing the elderly witch.

"Aye," the long-serving Governor the the Wizarding Examinations Authority stated. "The chamber has a bit of a history with Potters; presumably when the Rod brushed against young Lord Potter's magic, it was reminded of the good old days of the Wizarding Monarchy, though that was a bit before even my time," joked the witch who was so old she had administered Albus Dumbledore's N.E.W.T.s. "I believe that once Lord Potter takes his oath most of these lovely additions will disappear back into the magical ether."

Beyond mortified at having accidentally caused the Wizengamot chamber to, well...bloom, Harry's cheeks were noticeably red. The only consolation he had was that this had apparently happened to his grandfather and some of his other ancestors as well, and that it should go away soon. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he felt bad about leaning on the sacred magical Rod now in his left hand, but it was the only way he was going to be able to place his wand on the Tome and swear his vow while standing. Happily, the spirit in the Rod was now practically purring with pleasure, and didn't seem to mind at all that it was being used to help him remain upright. He really wished Dumbledore would get on with it already.

Answering his unspoken request, the page dutifully held the book, and Harry drew his wand on Dumbledore's command. It was his trusty Holly and Phoenix feather. The Thunderbird wand had not weathered the final battle very well. He had poured too much power through it, and it had seemingly burnt out the core. He had considered taking it to a wand maker to see if they could do anything with it, but he still hadn't decided if it was worth the extra scrutiny such an act might garner. "Please give this chamber your oath, Lord Potter."

"I, Harry James Potter, do solemnly swear upon my life and my magic that I will discharge the responsibilities required of me by virtue of my accession to the seats belonging to House Potter and House Black and membership in the Wizengamot, faithfully serving those whom I represent here and bearing true allegiance to the beings of the wizarding community of the United Kingdom, according to their respective laws and customs; I vow to uphold and carry out Justice with fairness, integrity, and diligence, and endeavor to do right to all manner of people after the laws and usages of the Realm without fear or favour, to the best of my ability. So I swear, so mote it be."

The conclusion of Harry's oath caused the Potter box across the room to grow dark and the Potter crest to appear to the right of the Black crest on the front of the box Harry currently occupied. Doge was basically ejected from his seat as the box vanished and the upper tier seats rearranged themselves to eliminate the gap. This shift was greeted by much cheering, with a few members going so far as to break the rule against applause. Many in the chamber were happy to see Harry take his rightful place, and pleased to see the power of the long-vacant Black seat active once more; that it had been pulled from the clutches of the traditionalist, or so-called Dark, faction was merely a bonus for some. No one really knew the young lord's politics, but it was a pretty safe bet that the man-who-conquered wouldn't generally be voting with the bloc containing the highest percentage of pureblood supremacists.

After Harry sheathed his wand and reclaimed his seat, he handed the powerful Rod back to the page. Once the artifact changed hands, the Wizengamot chamber returned more or less to its original state, and Harry sighed in relief; it was done.

Doge attempted to slink from the chamber in the melee, but Dumbledore made that impossible by calling attention to his departure. "Lord Potter, it is customary to thank a proxy for their services. Counselor Doge has represented your family for more than a decade, perhaps you might say a few words to honor his efforts."

Harry's face must have reflected his shock...Dumbledore had big brass ones, no question. Harry had been content to let bygones be bygones. After all, nothing good could come from an open challenge. At best, it would be a political embarrassment for a few people, at worst, it would require a bunch of re-trials that could allow guilty parties to go free. Dumbledore must have known that would be his calculus, so why push it? He heard Daphne's voice in his head saying, "Because, My Lord, he wants to remove any doubt about the legitimacy of the placement, which we know from Lady Longbottom has been rumored to be just a little too convenient for years, and he believes that you will be too confrontation averse to openly defy him and essentially call him a liar as your first official act in the Wizengamot. In short, he did it because it helps him, and he thinks he'll get away with it." Harry looked to the place where he knew the former Slytherin and her family would be sitting. She smiled widely at him and gave him a discreet nod. She wanted him to do it.

Augusta was almost directly across the chamber from him, and she too appeared to be encouraging him to call Dumbledore on his nonsense. She was relentless, which Harry kind of loved about her. Alright then, it was settled... no one could say Dumbledore hadn't brought this on himself.

"Forgive me, Chief Warlock, had I any idea that Mr. Dodge was serving as my family's representative in this body, I would have most certainly taken the opportunity to present him with an appropriate expression of my gratitude. As it stands, however, I respectfully request instead that he leave my voting book with the clerk on his way out so that I might review his record to ensure he has not stained the Potter honor in his 12 years of occupying the seat."

"Lord Potter, are you saying that you did not appoint Elphias Doge as your proxy?" questioned the Minister.

"No, Sir, I did not," Harry affirmed.

"And Counselor Doge never once contacted you, to consult you on your positions or preferences on any piece of legislation before this body, to discuss the votes he cast in your name, or to educate you about your Wizengamot responsibilities, even after you started Hogwarts or after you took up your rings?" The Minister seemed genuinely outraged on his behalf, but as Andi liked to say, he was a politician, so it was hard to know for sure.

"No, sir, he did not. I saw Doge very briefly, perhaps a handful of times that I recall over the last 18 years, and he never mentioned to me during those meetings that he was serving as the Potter proxy. In fact, he and I exchanged words, pleasantries only, on exactly two occasions that I remember before today."

"Gawain," Minister Scrimgeour called on the Chief Auror.

"Sir?"

"Please have your Aurors take Elphias Doge into custody. There are questions to which we need answers. His actions may have compromised the integrity of our judicial system, and an investigation must be conducted to determine how, why, and for whose benefit this occurred."

Gawain Robards sent two of the Aurors who had been part of the Minister's security detail to escort Doge to a holding cell. He requested they send two replacements as soon as they secured Doge. The sound of the door closing brought everyone's attention back to the session.

Impressively, in Harry's opinion, Dumbledore didn't seem especially shaken. Although, he knew the man had formidable occlumency shields to hide behind, so that probably helped. Proceeding as if nothing had happened, he announced, "The chamber's next order of business is to record the currently vacant seats and begin the nomination and deliberation process for replacements." Dumbledore gave the floor to the Chief Clerk of the Wizengamot, Sir Tristan Davies.

"Following their deaths in Hogsmeade or the immediate aftermath of Voldemort's defeat, the life peer seats formerly held by Augustus Flint, Pellinore Parkinson, and Ivar Rowle became vacant. These three seats are in addition to one vacated following Torquil Travers' passing in late May of old age, which members had been notified about previously."

"The clerk will be accepting written nominations for individuals to fill these seats at this time, but none of the nominees will be announced, seconded, or discussed tonight, as the evening grows late," Dumbledore informed the chamber. The lack of reaction to his announcement led Harry to conclude that this was standard practice. He watched as a flurry of charmed notes flew almost immediately from various locations around the room. Most landed smoothly on the clerk's large table, but a few missed their mark. He noted that the pages immediately recovered those nomination forms and placed them in a tray on Sir Davies' right. Harry decided he might as well make a nomination, since there were four empty seats to fill. After all, he had some idea of the type of contributions the committee was likely to view favorably given the members currently serving, and he had definite ideas about the kind of people he wanted to work with in the future...mainly someone with absolutely nothing in common with Pellinore Parkinson. He suspected that he and Augusta Longbottom might have similar recommendations, if her smile was anything to go by. He knew she strongly believed there should be more witches serving in the hereditary and life peer seats, and he did not disagree with her.

"I would respectfully request that members hold further nominations until tomorrow. Regarding the two elected positions currently open, does this chamber wish to discuss possible candidates this evening or adjourn until tomorrow?"

Morgan Thistlewaite, an elected member of the Wizengamot in his second term, stood with his wand lit and proposed, "Chief Warlock, I move we adjourn to meet again tomorrow, or rather today - August 2nd, at 11am."

The famous Potions Master, Damocles Belby, who held a lifetime peer seat in the chamber, quickly rose, "I second the motion." He looked exhausted. Harry was surprised to note that it was after midnight already.

"At this point, it is moved and seconded that this Lammas Session of the Wizengamot in the year 1998 adjourn this sitting and reconvene in a little over 10 hours. Is everyone ready for the question?"

"Merlin, yes!" someone yelled from the lower tier across the chamber.

"The question is on the adoption of the motion to adjourn this sitting of the Lammas Session of the Wizengamot in the year 1998 and reconvene in a little over 10 hours at 11am on 2 August. All those in favor say, 'aye,'" The response was resounding; everyone was ready to head home. For formality's sake, Dumbledore requested that, "all who oppose say, 'no.'" This directive was blessedly met with silence. "The ayes have it, and this meeting will be reconvened in this chamber at 11am. This sitting is now adjourned." Dumbledore banged the gavel, and the members began to leave.

Harry wanted to thank Lord Muldoon for his assistance this evening, but before he could do so, Augusta Longbottom descended on his box. "You were amazing, Lady Longbottom," he praised.

"Thank you. You weren't too bad yourself, Your Grace. Now then, are you ready to get home? I think there are some people waiting for you in the corridor," she said, peering at him in concern.

Suddenly a graying ginger approached the side of his box. "Augusta," he greeted the Dowager Countess enthusiastically. It was Liam Muldoon, just the man Harry had wanted a chance to speak with. "Perhaps you could introduce me to your friend?" he hinted.

"Oh, I suppose," she agreed, teasing him. Harry was surprised at how cordial the two were, since Lady Longbottom had made no note of her own alliance with the Baron when she had mentioned him to Harry. "Liam, this is Lord Potter. Harry, this is Lord Muldoon, the Baron of Fermanagh."

She helped Harry stand so the two men could shake hands. "Please call me Harry, Lord Muldoon. I am very grateful for your assistance this evening."

"It was my pleasure and my duty," the older man said solemnly, bowing. "You must of course call me Liam," the Irishman insisted with a smile. "If you'll pardon me for saying so, you look remarkably like your grandfather. I knew instantly who you had to be when you came through the door, though I was a little surprised to see you sitting with me over here."

"Er, thank you," Harry responded, pleased, as he hadn't been compared to his grandfather by anyone but Auror Moody...something he had assumed had everything to do with the way he handled his wand and nothing to do with his looks, but perhaps he had been mistaken. "The Black seat was already empty, so it just seemed easier," he explained.

"Bloody Doge," the Baron bit out. "I can tell things are going to start getting very interesting around here with the two of you teaming up. You'll have to take pity on an old man and let me in on the action sometimes."

"Of course, Liam, you have always been a proper partner in mayhem."

"Well, it is getting quite late, so you'll have to excuse me," he said, though Harry could tell his words were probably more for Harry's benefit than his own. "Would you allow me to escort the two of you out? I have a bit of a reputation to bank on, so it should keep the reporters at bay."

Augusta Longbottom laughed, honest to goodness laughed, and revealed, "Liam is very much of the mind to hex first, and never ask, because why give them the chance to get one over on you?"

Harry smiled absently, but he had to direct most of his attention to making sure he didn't trip on the uneven flooring. Augusta had a death grip on his arm, which was good, but she was moving a bit fast for him given that he estimated he currently only had about 30% feeling in his left leg. It was a miracle they had made it as far as they had, though he did trust that Liam would catch them if they took a spill, even though they'd just met.

Finally, they cleared the chamber, and he was reunited with Remus, Dora, Andromeda, and Ted. Neville was there, too. He hadn't expected to see Daphne or the others since he had been informed that the Auror security patrol was aggressive about making sure individuals in the gallery did not linger once the legislative session was adjourned. The angry looks that they were currently receiving suggested the patrol was not thrilled that the four of them had resisted. He assumed Tonks had flashed her Auror badge to buy them some peace. "Harry!" Remus cried, taking over seamlessly from Augusta.

Harry gave his regards and thanks once more to both Augusta and Muldoon before turning to Remus to say, "I want to go home."

"Just a few more minutes, cub. I know it's been a long day."

They parted ways with the others, and Remus flooed to Arundel first. Ted, who had a cast iron constitution and didn't mind making multiple floo jumps, stayed to go through with Harry. The first jump was successful, so they prepared to go to the cottage in short order. Before they stepped into the fireplace, Harry confided in Ted, "My leg is very numb. I'm not sure..." understanding completely Ted adjusted his grip on him as they stepped through. The brightly colored sitting room of Hiraeth greeted them. He was home at last.


	18. False Pretenses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter take place on 2 August 1998 and focus heavily on what is happening with Elphias Doge, including some minor Dumbledore machinations, a visit with the Minister, and the Head Auror’s character study of the corps’ newest recruit. This work is AU, I am not an expert on parliamentary procedure, and I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay. Not much happens here I am afraid, as I really struggled with this chapter and had some difficulty finding my voice and hitting my preferred tone. I suspect that this will end up changing a bit in the revision process even after I post it, though I promise to flag any major face-lifts for readers should they occur. I had intended on covering the rest of the Wizengamot session in this one, but it had already been so long that I decided to just go ahead and post what I had. The next update should be faster.

2 August 1998 - Arundel Castle - East Wing - West Sussex- 7:22am

It was too early. Harry felt as though he had only climbed into bed a few moments ago, and yet here he was, already dressed and preparing for the day. It was going to be another long one, he knew. Just thinking about it made him yawn. "No rest for the weary," he murmured to himself, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes as he went over the list of things he needed to accomplish before the Wizengamot session at 11.

Deciding there was no sense delaying the inevitable, he made his way down the hall toward the parlour. Eyeing the hearth, he opted to send his patronus to inform Remus that he was on his way. Despite more than 7 years in the magical world, he still found speaking through the floo a disconcerting experience. Grabbing a handful of powder, he clearly stated his destination- Arundel, East Wing- reveling a bit in his newly won independence as he stepped into the flames.

Harry's feeling of triumph lasted only as long as it took for Remus to catch him like a poorly thrown quaffle after he was spat unceremoniously from the fireplace into what had traditionally served as the family's private sitting room.

The older wizard maintained his bracing grip until he was sure Harry was unharmed and sufficiently steady on his feet. Running his right hand through his raven hair, Harry sighed, "I really need to learn to shield like Andromeda advised."

Giving his green-eyed charge a sympathetic nod, Remus beckoned him to follow as he led the way to an adjacent dining area. When he turned and observed the younger wizard's less than enthusiastic expression, he chided, "Harry, you need to eat something. You might not get another opportunity until much later this afternoon."

Unable to argue with that logic, Harry obediently trailed the last Marauder through the reception room. He hadn't had an opportunity to examine this area before, since most of his time at Arundel to date had been spent on either the main floor or in his study. However, since the Castle would be open for tours today, though not for several hours yet, he and Remus had agreed that it made sense for them to confine themselves to the East Wing that morning. Remus had explained that a ridiculous amount of preparation appeared to be required to make the castle suitable for visitors, even with the subtle aid of magic. As such, it was highly likely that several non-cleared staff members were already hard at work downstairs, despite the early hour.

Taking in as much of the Brittany blue room with gold accents as he could in an initial pass, his first impression was that it was unduly fussy, with its crystal chandelier; elaborate Regency crown molding; and large, tufted silk footstool dominating the space. The intricately carved cabriole legs on every stick of furniture in the room, including the settee, merely added to the effect. It also struck him that this room, unlike most in the castle, had been renovated at some point in the last 20 years to mimic an earlier period. Thus, the furnishings were all comparatively new, but with antique aesthetics, to blend with the rest of Arundel's decor.

Given how easy magic made it to preserve and restore priceless originals, the room must have been hideous to have warranted the extensive overhaul. And, while it was too feminine and formal to truly suit his tastes, he liked the idea of having a place in his home that had been shaped by his grandmother's own hand. Maybe someday his future Duchess would want to put her own stamp on the Castle as well. Wait...what? Harry's steps faltered, and he was forced to grab the back of the sofa to keep his footing. Since when was he thinking about marriage? He was only 18 for the love of Merlin, and he hadn't even really dated anyone properly. Thinking about his theoretical future wife's possible interior design choices had to be one of the most egregious instances of putting the carriage before the thestral ever.

"Harry!" Remus called to him, clearly alarmed, the events of the previous morning fresh in his mind. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to immediately rush to the younger wizard's side, just as it had required more fortitude than he had anticipated to let the teen floo unaccompanied. However, occasional set backs aside, Harry was getting better. Remus knew he needed to allow the other wizard the opportunity to determine his limits and capabilities before he went to the Auror Academy. Knowing when to ask for help was a critical life lesson and would be key to ensuring his safety and success there. While the werewolf had no doubts that Harry would start with the others in September, he also thought it likely that some temporary allowances would need to be made for him while he finished his recovery.

"I'm fine," the young lord reassured him, embarrassed. "I was just a little distracted by my thoughts." Remus watched him like a hawk as he completed his trek to the breakfast room and lowered himself carefully into the chair opposite.

There was an impressive spread already laid on the table, with fruit and jams, porridge, eggs, and, of course, tea, in easy reach. As Remus prepared their drinks (white with one sugar for Harry), Mr. Simon Davoren, the castle's head butler, delivered two caddies of brown toast and an antique Sheffield serving dish bearing the Potter armorial crest. Beneath the lid, which the butler removed with a flourish like a stage magician performing the big reveal for his audience, sat a pile of glossy, plump breakfast sausages. A second plate of equally succulent meats was placed immediately to Remus' left, confirming for Harry that the elaborate server was made of silver.

"Thank you, Mr. Davoren," Harry said, fighting the urge to ask the man to join them, since he knew such an overture would be, at best, unwelcome.

"Your Grace," The butler acknowledged, bowing, before serving Harry then Remus from the various dishes. After he poured them each a glass of freshly squeezed juice, he retreated to a position near the African Blackwood sideboard. He was now far enough away to give them a semblance of privacy, but close enough that he could be quickly on hand should either of them require anything further. Harry wished Mr. Davoren would feel free to go about his day, but resolved himself to the butler's well-meaning presence at the meal.

Removing a piece of toast from the caddy, Harry buttered it lightly before slathering it with strawberry jam. After he took a few bites of fruit under Remus' watchful gaze, he broke the silence. "I am planning to send my acceptance to the Academy and reply to Ragnuk this morning." Pausing for a moment to sip his tea, a question that had been weighing on his mind tumbled out, "Do you think I should say something about my ... health, I suppose, when I accept my placement? There are requirements levied upon cadets that I might not be able to meet in less than eight weeks," he trailed off, having finally given voice to one of his main fears.

Remus gave the question due consideration before responding, "Eight weeks is a long time, Harry. I mean look how far you've already come in just a little over a month. If I were you, I would wait to see what Mr. Lam says on Friday, and see how you feel by this time next month. If you still have concerns at that point, then perhaps you should have Ted write a letter or even speak to the Head Healer at the Academy directly. Worst case, they exempt you from some of the mandatory physical training exercises in the first term or permit you to do modified versions. It won't be forever, cub, I promise."

"What if the Academy Healer deems me unfit for training?"

The older wizard reached across the table to pat the the teen's hand as he said, "Then you reapply when you are fully healed, or you commit to one of a thousand other possible careers available to you. I know this is what you want to do, and I support you in your goals. But, please, don't forget that you are an incredibly talented young man who can do anything you set your mind to. If one door does close, then another will open, and I'll be right there with you, okay?"

Hearing the range of possibilities out loud had been therapeutic. It was all too easy for Harry to build up the worst case scenario in his mind. If he couldn't be an Auror, he would be disappointed... devastated, even. But, Remus was right; there were no shortages of areas in which the wizarding world needed help. After all, he had considered a number of other careers before deciding to pursue a commission in the Auror corps; why wouldn't he find just as much fulfillment teaching the next generation of magicals or even serving the courts in another capacity? Feeling infinitely better about what the future would hold, and surprisingly at ease, he smiled. "Thanks, Remus, that means a lot to me."

"I am here to help, you know that."

"I do."

"Now, eat up! You are still entirely too thin, and every time Hermione sees you, she gets that much closer to sitting me down and taking me to task for my failures," Remus reported, only somewhat joking.

"I'll do my best, Remus, if only to spare you. Hermione is not one to be trifled with. Depending on her level of ire, you might be treated to a lecture on your deficiencies with visual aids and indexed footnotes. No transgression will go unremarked upon; she prides herself on being thorough," Harry teased.

Shuddering playfully at the prospect, Remus finished the last of his toast and poured them both some more of the perfectly steeped tea, despite the fact that they didn't really have time to linger over their breakfast. It was simply too good to waste.

Savoring the warm, sweet beverage, Remus casually revealed, "Ted and I will be conducting some research in the Ministry archives while you're in session today."

"Oh?" Harry inquired, intrigued about what the two men could be working on.

"Nothing too exciting," the werewolf assured, thinking of the journal he had been keeping and feeling his pulse quicken slightly as he entertained several almost certainly impossible outcomes. Reminding himself that there was no point in getting his or anyone else's hopes up yet, and not wanting to arouse unnecessary suspicion, Remus steered his thoughts away from what was likely pure fantasy before calmly explaining, "Ted was asked to consult on a unique case, and I offered him my research skills and academic expertise for the afternoon."

"Why the Ministry and not St. Mungos?" Harry asked.

"Ted has already examined most of the relevant records the hospital keeps on site without much success. He thinks we need to dig into the Ministry's historical holdings, which include several centuries of files and findings from St. Mungos, to make headway."

Though he remained curious about the subject of the case, since he sensed that Remus was withholding several important details, Harry could hardly begrudge anyone else their secrets. There were no doubt hundreds of reasons for the other wizard to remain circumspect on the topic, none of which were any of his business.

Harry was soon distracted from further speculation by the arrival of his beloved Hedwig. The snowy owl barked softly in greeting as she landed gracefully on the table, her fierce amber eyes surveying the well-lit breakfast room and its occupants before offering her master the letter she carried. She preened as Harry stroked her feathers and accepted the envelope. "It's from the Minister."

Remus frowned, "What does he want?"

Quickly scanning the contents of the message, Harry summarized, "He is offering to update me on the results of their investigation into Doge."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, "Slightly unusual, but not unheard of given that you are the primary victim of the crime and that it is unlikely that anyone would have even thought to look into Doge without your statements yesterday evening." Smiling wryly, he added, "Though, I am sure the fact that the Minister is desperate for your approval and that you are about to swear secrecy and loyalty oaths to the DMLE also factored into his decision to share the findings."

Harry absently offered Hedwig a piece of sausage, which she scoffed after affectionately nipping his finger. She helped herself to a few scraps on Harry's plate before gently hopping onto his shoulder. She was careful not to dig her sharp claws into him as she sat upon her favorite perch grooming his messy hair. She had missed him. If the butler thought anything amiss in the presence of the exotic bird at the meal, he kept his own counsel on the subject.

"He's requested I floo to his office this morning for the briefing," Harry revealed.

Raising an appraising eyebrow, Remus offered, "At least it will save you a trip through the Ministry's public floos. What time is he expecting you?"

"9:30am," Harry replied as he handed the missive to his godfather to review, trying not to disturb Hedwig from her self appointed task.

Vigilantly reading through the note for signs of anything about which to be wary, the last Marauder concluded, "He obviously wants to make a political statement by walking you into the Wizengamot chamber, or at least be seen with you enroute just before the session." Folding the parchment and handing it back, Remus smirked at Harry's concerned look, "Don't worry, I have a few ideas about how to thwart those aspirations." At the green-eyed wizard's questioning look, he mischievously replied, "I'll explain once you're dressed. You need to change into your Wizengamot robes, cub. You wouldn't want to keep the Minister for Magic waiting, now would you?"

At Remus' mild jest, Hedwig flitted back to the table, understanding that her master was about to leave but reluctant to let him out of her sight. "Hey, girl," Harry said, "Will you meet me in my study? I'll have a couple of letters for you to deliver shortly." Hooting in the affirmative, she took off out of the same open sash window through which she had come, her majestic white feathers shining brightly in the morning sun as she cut an effortless path across the lower bailey.

"I'll have one of the birds in the castle's owlery deliver your response to the Minister. It should reach him within the hour." Remus hesitated before suggesting, "You might consider mentioning your ah...difficulties with the floo, so he is properly prepared for your arrival."

"Probably wise," Harry agreed, signing his name with a few flicks of the quill that Mr. Davoren had procured for him. "Here you go."

Letter in hand, Remus quickly made his way toward Bevis Tower. Harry thanked Mr. Davoren as he departed the breakfast room at a more sedate pace, hoping he could figure out how to get to the study from his current location. Picking up on Duke Potter's apprehension, the butler immediately offered his services as an escort. "Your Grace, may I accompany you to your destination?"

The Duke of Norfolk looked so surprised by his inquiry that Mr. Davoren was worried he might have given offense. The kind smile that followed, however, soon laid those fears to rest. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I could use a guide. I haven't quite learned my way around up here." Bowing, the butler took him through a different door than the one he had entered from, completely bypassing the sitting room, before making a right into a narrow hallway which soon opened up into the space at the top of the main staircase with which he was familiar. His study was only a bit further. "Thank you, again," Harry said, as Davoren opened the door for him, "I would definitely have made a wrong turn back there if left to my own devices."

"It was my pleasure, Your Grace. Please ring if you need anything."

****************************

Meanwhile - The Burrow - Ottery St. Catchpole - Devon

Molly Weasley hummed along with the Celestina Warbeck tune playing on the wireless as she finished making breakfast; it would be time to call the children down soon. The realization that only two of them were still living at home caused a familiar pang in her chest. Her babies were all grown up, and even little Ginny was entering her final year of Hogwarts. Where had the time gone? As she set the table for three and tipped the perfectly browned sausages from the skillet onto a serving plate, she smiled in satisfaction.

Taking in a deep breath, she prepared to yell for the two youngest Weasleys to come and eat, however, before she could shout their names, she was startled by the sound of someone calling for her from the fireplace in the other room. "Molly!"

Drawing her wand, she approached the floo cautiously, very relieved to find it was only Dumbledore requesting permission to step through. "Of course, Albus," the red-headed mother of 7 granted graciously, stepping aside to make room.

Emerging from the grate in a cloud of ash, the tall, thin wizard cleaned the soot from both the hearth and his purple robes with a wave of his wand. Taking a moment to wipe his half-moon glasses on his sleeve, he greeted his hostess, "Good Morning, Molly. I apologize for the hour, but since I knew that I would be tied up in the Wizengamot all day, this was the only time I had available to see you. If it isn't convenient for you, I can certainly return later." Nothing in his demeanor suggested that he would be at all bothered if she were to ask him to leave; not that she would, of course.

"It's no trouble. I was just about to fetch Ron and Ginny for breakfast. Would you like to join us?" she offered warmly, always happiest when she was feeding others.

"No, thank you, Molly. It smells delicious, but I've already eaten. I would not turn down a cup of tea, though, if it isn't too much of an imposition." He glanced at the clock in the living room as he followed her to the table, pleased to see that Arthur was already at work and that Ron and Ginerva were still asleep.

Quickly preparing him a steaming mug with sugar and lemon, she cast a stasis charm on the food as she sat across from him with her own cup. "What can I do for you this morning, Headmaster?"

"I don't know what you heard about the session last night," he began delicately.

"I haven't had a chance to look at the Prophet yet today, and I was in bed before Ron returned last night. Why? What happened? Harry is all right, isn't he, the poor dear?"

Dumbledore took a drink of tea to hide his surprise at the fact that Molly Weasley had obviously been aware of Harry's intent to claim his seats the previous evening. It frustrated him that he had relied solely on the information supplied by Hagrid, Minerva, and Filius on Harry's attendance, when the Weasleys had been privy to Harry's plans. Still, it made him even more confident that his approach this morning would produce the desired results.

"Harry is fine. Indeed, he comported himself admirably yesterday," Dumbledore assured her, showing no trace of rancor over having been caught out by the teen's unexpected appearance. "Something rather shocking did come to light, however. It seems that Elphias Doge, I am sure you remember him from the Order?"

"Yes," The Weasley matriarch confirmed, clearly confused as to where the conversation could be leading and how it related to Albus' unannounced visit.

"Well, accusations were made about his services as the proxy for the Potter seat."

"What sorts of accusations?" she asked, trying to reconcile her impressions of the sweet old man with a propensity for wearing rather outlandish headgear with someone who could be subject to charges in the Wizengamot.

"I am certain it is all a big misunderstanding, but Harry seems to think that Doge was voting the Potter seat under false pretenses and that he had not been lawfully appointed by Charlus Potter as a secondary proxy."

"Well, surely that is rather easy to prove one way or the other. Where do you think he got that idea?"

"You are right, of course. The Wizengamot clerk will hopefully have pulled the paperwork necessary to resolve this issue before the session begins today. Only, well, Elphias spent yesterday evening in a holding cell under an Auror guard." Albus took a sip of his tea, pausing to ensure his next statement was fully internalized by the red head. "I don't think Harry truly understands the power that his words carry in the chamber, nor the lengths that some may be willing to go if they believe that their actions will curry his favor."

"Are you saying that Harry demanded they imprison him?" she asked in disbelief.

"No, no, of course not. We both know that while Harry is rather prone to jumping to conclusions, he is too kind and forgiving a soul to insist on such a thing. It was the Minister, in a blatant attempt to gain Harry's support for his agenda, who insisted that Elphias be taken in for questioning."

"Hopefully they have already released him, the poor man," Molly pronounced sympathetically.

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed. "However, the reason I came here this morning is because the more I thought about what happened in the session, the more concerned I became. It was very evident to me that some of the individuals from whom Harry has been seeking political guidance are leading him astray, manipulating him for their own purposes. I know how much he looks up to you and Arthur, so I was hoping you would be willing to talk to him. He won't listen to me, because those who are taking advantage of him have convinced him that I do not have his interests at heart. But, no matter what lies they might try and tell Harry about you, he would never believe them. He cares too deeply for you and your family."

Flattered to hear the depth of Harry's regard for the Weasleys from Dumbledore himself and moved by Harry's plight, she resolved to reach out at the earliest opportunity. "We would be happy to warn him to be cautious about people giving him advice or only doing things to gain his attention and support. Who do you think is using him?" Molly asked again, concerned.

"I'm afraid I don't really know, but it looked like several members of the Wizengamot had already approached him with stories of their alliances with his grandfather. The fact is that his healers have said that he isn't well enough to have claimed his seats; the strain of the magical oath required could permanently damage his core, and it has almost certainly set back his recovery," Dumbledore claimed, voice raised, relying on the information he had read and received from his medical sources.

Molly was shocked, she couldn't imagine that Remus would allow Harry to do anything that would harm him...unless...Remus was being manipulated too. Hadn't the former professor recently informed her that Harry was unable to visit the Burrow, and yet they had forced the poor boy to host a very public dinner party and take his seats in the Wizengamot within the last two days? Albus was right, it didn't make sense; and it seemed to be very much to Harry's detriment. Still, Ron hadn't mentioned anyone being around except the Tonkses, and Dora was an Auror and a Hufflepuff; not exactly political mastermind material.

Before she could dismiss her thoughts as mere flights of fancy, however, they drifted to the other recent but constant presence in Harry's life: Andromeda Tonks, a daughter of House Black. Could she be the driver? Molly could all too easily imagine the woman she had observed swanning around the Hall on Harry's birthday in robes that cost nearly as much as Arthur made in a year taking advantage of Harry. She had after all already convinced him to name her Chatelaine; what other aspirations did she have after being exiled from society for so long?

Molly hesitated to voice her theory, but Dumbledore was clearly so upset on Harry's behalf, she knew she had to help him. "Do you think Andromeda Tonks might be one of the ones giving Harry bad advice?"

Dumbledore considered her words, nodding slowly as if his analysis of the available evidence supported her view. "That is a disturbing possibility, Molly, but I thank you for bringing it to my attention. Elphias served for many years as a Ministry prosecutor, and he is personally responsible for filing numerous charges against the Black family. So, it is plausible that Andromeda might carry a grudge. Her grandfather, Arcturus, famously threatened to kill him in chambers once."

"The Blacks still have a great deal of influence, and they have married into a number of prominent families over the years," Molly warned, conveniently forgetting to include both the Prewitts and the Weasleys in that tally. "Do you think any of them might try and have Doge sent to Azkaban?"

Dumbledore looked stricken, "I hadn't considered that. I suppose the only way to make sure that Elphias isn't convicted of a crime he didn't commit is to get Harry to withdraw the charges."

"But you said that the Minister levied the charges, not Harry," Molly reminded him.

"That is true, but I daresay Rufus only did so because he believed it would score political points with Harry. So, if Harry were to inform the Minister that he was not interested in prosecuting Doge, then I am sure the Minister would drop the charges against him. Unfortunately, the people currently whispering into Harry's ear will never allow that to happen."

"Albus, you know Harry would never let an innocent man go to jail. I don't think you are giving him enough credit. Once the paperwork is produced, everything will be fine."

"Of course," the Headmaster agreed easily, "I am merely concerned for Elphias. He is not a young wizard, and magical suppression cuffs can be very hard on people my age."

"If this isn't sorted out in the next few days, Arthur and I will speak to Harry. I give you my word."

"Thank you, Molly. You are a dear friend," he said, rising from the table, sensing that her tepid offer was the best he was going to get. "I need to prepare for the session this morning, so I should be on my way."

She walked him to the fireplace and held out the dish containing her floo powder. As Dumbledore took a handful, he exclaimed, "Oh, I nearly forgot. Please give my congratulations to Ronald on his acceptance into the Auror Academy."

Molly smiled with pride, returning the pot to the mantle. "I will. He was a bit worried, you know, because his N.E.W.T.s were a little low."

He turned to her once more before stepping into the fire, making a last attempt to secure her cooperation. "I agree that your son Ronald has much to recommend him, and I didn't think that something so trivial as an 'A' in Potions or Transfiguration should prevent him from pursuing a career for which he seems remarkably well suited otherwise. I hope you don't mind, but I put in a good word for him with Alastor and the rest of the review panel. I was absolutely thrilled to hear that they decided to award him a placement." He could tell Molly was surprised as he tossed in the powder and called out his destination. He just hoped it would be enough to convince her to speak to Harry about Elphias. Deciding there was nothing more to be done for his friend until he'd had the chance to talk to Shacklebolt, Dumbledore disappeared through the towering green flames before she could respond.

****************************

2 August 1998 - Minister's Office- Ministry of Magic, London - 9:29am

Desperate to contain his magic as he swirled at a dizzying pace toward his first true appointment of the day, Harry wasn't at all confident that the Minister had understood the admittedly veiled references he'd made to his abysmal record with floo travel when he'd accepted the proposed meeting. Resigning himself to toppling out of the fire into a graceless heap even as he ruthlessly forced his power down, Harry felt a brief flash (or was that a flush?) of longing for the Ministry's Whitehall underground public toilets entryway. But then, just as his destination came into focus, Harry's spinning slowed. Afraid to let a single tendril of magic free, he dared not even breathe until he came to a complete, gentle, and wholly unfamiliar stop at the final hearth. He still stumbled slightly as he emerged into what could only be the Minister's office, but two sets of strong arms reached out to steady him. It was official; after several years of trying, Harry had finally managed a completely successful journey by floo.

Exhaling in relief and smiling at the wizards providing the - for once - unnecessary assistance, Harry registered for the first time that both the Minister and the Head Auror were in the room. The unexpected presence of his new boss made him even more grateful for his surprisingly smooth arrival. After all, nothing said incompetence quite like struggling to perform a basic magical task.

It turned out, however, that Harry's internal celebrations may have been a bit precipitous. For, as soon as he relaxed his tight hold on his magic, one of the ink pots on the Minister's desk exploded in a shower of glass. Eyes wide, Harry instinctively flicked his hand at the flying shrapnel, returning the object to its original state so quickly that Scrimgeour was half convinced he had imagined the entire incident.

The office air was briefly thick with Potter's magic, and Gawain Robards didn't bother to hide his scorn for the Minister's ridiculous reaction. He hadn't liked Scrimgeour when he had served as his deputy, and Rufus' tenure as Minister hadn't exactly endeared the man to him either. In Gawain's view, Rufus had never felt a higher calling to uphold the law and defend justice. His excessive personal ambition and political nature had frequently stood in the way of not only good investigative work but necessary reforms within the corps. Robards knew he wasn't alone in feeling that the Auror Department was considerably better off without Rufus at its helm.

Blushing deeply, Harry offered his apologies, unknowingly interrupting the Head Auror's heated musings, "I am so sorry. Is everyone alright?"

Since Scrimgeour was still doing a credible impression of a dying dugbog, Gawain took the initiative, responding with a smirk, "No harm done, Lord Potter. Indeed, I commend you on your reflexes."

"Er...thank you, sir, and please, call me Harry," he insisted, standing awkwardly beside one of the Minister's ostentatious chairs, unsure of the protocol and obviously still embarrassed about his momentary loss of control.

Acknowledging the request with a nod, Gawain studied the painfully thin form before him, carefully cataloging everything from the immaculate robes to the walking stick that was quite clearly not a fashion statement. He knew he was being rude, but the other wizard bore his scrutiny well. Gawain supposed as the Boy-Who-Lived and Man-Who-Conquered, he was probably used to it. Then, in a move the Head Auror had not predicted, the raven-haired wizard quirked his mouth and deflected, "This is the point where most people tell me that they thought I'd be taller."

Gawain found himself chuckling at the weak joke as Potter met his gaze with a smile. If the comment had been an attempt by the other wizard to disarm his audience as well as politely discourage the type of blatant examination the Head Auror had been engaged in, then he had succeeded. Not that Robards completely abandoned his study, since he had only agreed to give the Minister a briefing on Doge that morning in the first place because he had learned that Rufus planned to include Potter in the discussions. He had wanted to meet the famous wizard outside the confines and formalities of the Academy, where the power dynamic between them in any interaction would be that of superior and very junior subordinate. He thought it important to get some more authentic measure of the man before he swore his oaths as a cadet since he had the potential to be a quite disruptive presence within the ranks if he so chose.

Observing the younger wizard as he perched stiffly on his seat, Gawain admitted that, so far, Potter wasn't anything like he had expected. For one thing, he was incredibly young. Gawain had, of course, theoretically known how old he was, but reconciling the reputation- legend, really- with the teenager in front of him was surreal. For another, while he could tell almost immediately that Potter was one of the most magically powerful wizards he had ever encountered, the other wizard seemed more self-conscious than arrogant about it. Gawain was very interested in seeing what the rest of the meeting would reveal about Potter's character and priorities.

Once they had all claimed their seats, the Minister reasserted control over both himself and the proceedings. Shooting a pointed look at Robards, he stated, "Since we all have other pressing matters to attend to today, let's get started, shall we?"

Gritting his teeth at the subtle insinuation that he, rather Scrimgeour, was somehow responsible for the delay, Gawain began the briefing. "A team of four Aurors questioned Mr. Elphias Doge overnight following his detention on the Minister's orders in response to accusations of fraud by false representation and fraud by abuse of position. I have the charging documents here," he continued, handing a thick sheaf of parchment to Scrimgeour. "A couple of highlights are that Doge's criminal liability may increase if he is found to have obtained his position under false or criminal pretenses. The prosecutor will record it as an aggravating factor when filing the case with the Council. Doge could also be subject to additional sanctions, including misconduct in public office and gross negligence through breach or dereliction of duty, depending on the outcome of the investigation and the recommendations of the DMLE's Legal Advisor."

"And what were the department's findings?" the Minister prompted impatiently.

Refusing to take the bait, Robards spoke directly to Lord Potter, systematically laying out the information his team had obtained over the last 12 hours. "Before I returned to the Wizengamot yesterday evening, I had the Chief archivist pull the writ Doge filed to declare his position as secondary proxy for the Potter seat. I personally delivered it to the lab for testing and retrieved the certified results from the principle examiner myself a few hours later. The preliminary results of those tests indicate that the documents Doge presented in July of 1986 were fake."

Potter's stoic countenance gave away nothing at the revelation. The Minister, on the other hand, carried on more than enough for both of them. Scrimgeour stood abruptly, pacing in front of the fireplace, his bluster and indignation a well-choreographed performance. "Why in Merlin's name wasn't that discovered 12 years ago?!" he demanded, banging his fist on his desk for dramatic emphasis.

Holding up his hand to forestall further theatrics, Robards explained, "The forgeries were very good and imbued with an exceptionally credible facsimile of the late Lord Charlus Potter's magical signature. The writ would have easily fooled the inferior testing methods commonly used at the time. Fortunately, as there have been significant advances in magical forensics techniques since 1986, we were able to recognize and confirm the fabrication. Additional testing may be conducted to substantiate the initial results before the case is presented to the Law Council, though that could prove unnecessary."

"What do you mean?" Rufus challenged.

"Doge admitted to forging the paperwork during his interrogation," Gawain responded simply.

That got a reaction from the Man-Who-Conquered, though the wizard's soft, semi-resigned inquiry was not exactly the one the Head Auror had anticipated. "Did he say why he did it?" Gawain couldn't help but wonder if there was a motivation that Doge could have offered that would justify the other wizard's betrayal to Potter.

"He claimed that leaving the Potter seat vacant until you came of age was a crime against magic and that leveraging those votes to prop up the light faction in order to prevent a resurgence of war was a moral imperative. He further rationalized that since your grandfather would have named him as a secondary proxy if he had known the extent of Palleas' failing health, he was merely carrying out the unspoken will of the last Potter patriarch by acting as he did."

"That's completely delusional!" pronounced the Minister. And, for once, Robards agreed with him. It had been unbelievable when Doge said it the first time, and frankly sounded even more bat-shit crazy in the retelling.

"Do you think any of that is true?" Harry asked, sounding more curious than incredulous.

"If you'll pardon my candor, Lord Potter, Doge is full of Hippogriff shit. The 'for the greater good' defense didn't work for Grindelwald, and it isn't going to work for Doge."

Potter flinched as if he'd been struck when Robards uttered the Dark Wizard's famous motto...interesting. Did his grandfather's crusade resonate that deeply in the Potter family magic, or was it something else? Gawain didn't have to wonder for long, because Potter's next question was telling. Striving for a neutral tone that he didn't quite achieve, the young lord inquired, "Do you believe he was working alone...or is there evidence to suggest someone else may have been pulling the strings?"

Both Lord Potter and the Minister waited intently for his response. "When Doge confessed, he was vehement about having acted of his own volition. The team repeatedly questioned him about witting or even unwitting collaborators, but their report indicates he never wavered in his assertions that he was the sole architect of the plot and that no one else had been involved. However, the lead Auror noted that the illogical defense offered by Doge, someone known to be well-versed in the law, coupled with the uncharacteristic fanaticism he displayed during his interview when asked about certain topics, made the team suspect he could have been memory charmed or manipulated in some other way to believe that what he was saying was true."

"Well, have you arranged for him to be examined?"

Robards knew he hadn't quite managed to keep his feelings about the stupidity of the Minister's question off his face, but thankfully the man either didn't notice or chose to ignore it. "Separate examinations by two of the Ministry's top legilimens were inconclusive. If he was charmed or a victim of mental manipulation, it was done by someone too skilled too long ago to be detected or broken without destroying his mind."

"You should get a consult from St. Mungos as well," the Minister ordered.

"Are you authorizing the expenditure, sir?"

In response, Scrimgeour silently summoned a sheet of parchment from his desk and scribbled some notes on it before signing it and stamping it with his seal of office. He handed the paper to Robards who glanced at it briefly before folding it and tucking it inside his robes with a nod of thanks toward his superior. "The team concluded that there was no more to be gained by re-interviewing Counselor Doge at this time or without additional lines of inquiry. The lead Auror suggested that while Doge could conceivably have pulled off the deception alone, including the spells used to forge the proxy writ, as he claimed, it seemed unlikely that no co-conspirators were brought into the scam at any point in the last 12 years. They recommended further investigation into who benefited from Doge's placement and votes since mid-1986. I've already assigned a team to cull through the records to identify persons of interest for questioning."

"What a bloody nightmare," Rufus lamented, scrubbing at his face. "Are we going to have to re-try every case heard by the Wizengamot for the last 12 years?"

"I imagine that is for the DMLE's legal team to determine, but if you ask me, I think any case in which Doge made substantive remarks which could have swayed opinions or any cases in which conviction or acquittal was determined by a small number of votes should be considered for retrial."

"That is a very reasonable suggestion, Gawain. I will propose it to the legal team for review." The Minister sounded genuinely grateful for the Head Auror's input as he shuffled some papers, signaling to the others that the meeting was coming to a close. "You'll keep me informed of any developments?"

"Of course, sir," Robards responded dutifully, swallowing his distaste for the transparent political maneuvering.

The men exchanged mindless pleasantries now that the business portion of the discussion was over, and Robards was slightly irritated by the Minister's eagerness to prolong the social portion of the engagement. Still, while making small talk with Rufus wasn't high on his list of preferred activities, Gawain couldn't bring himself to leave Potter in the Minister's clutches without back-up. He was therefore quite relieved when he saw the younger wizard glance at the clock on the wall. Potter was calling it. He watched with concern as the dark-haired man gripped the edge of the Minister's desk and hoisted himself slowly to his feet. "I can't thank you enough for taking the time to update me on the investigation," Harry told them sincerely, shaking hands with both men as they each prepared to leave.

The Minister took Potter's polite but obvious attempt to extricate himself in stride, smiling as he declared, "It is getting to be that time, isn't it?" Then, with calculated casualness, Scrimgeour retrieved the Potter voting book from the recesses of his desk, presenting it to Harry as if it were an Order of Merlin. "I had my people check it over extensively. The only foreign magic detected was a fairly standard anti-theft measure."

Harry studied the book for a few seconds before gesturing to his wand holster, "May I?"

"By all means," the Minister granted, curious as to the teen's intent. Robards, for his part, was also looking forward to seeing what Potter could do with a wand. After all, Russell, Korval, and Williamson had been going on about the kid for months, and even Alastor Moody had good things to say.

Ignoring the attention, Harry drew his wand, and with an enviable confidence and economy of motion, rapidly performed a series of spells on the book. Robards raised an eyebrow, surprised to find that he didn't recognize everything that was cast, though he correctly assumed that if Potter had used more traditional wand movements or vocalized the incantations, he would have. The spells he was familiar with, however, appeared to be aimed at detection or cleansing. Several were impressively obscure.

Satisfied that he had done everything within his power at the moment to ensure his voting book was uncorrupted, Harry pulled an odd silk pouch from his robes. After sealing the book inside, he deposited it into one of his magically-expanded pockets. Harry still had no intention of interacting with it on a more intimate magical basis until it had been through additional testing. Refocusing on the Head Auror and the Minister, he asked, "Is it possible to have a new book commissioned?"

The Minister had not expected the question, but Robards grinned. "Constant Vigilance!"

"Something like that," Harry agreed with a tight smile of his own.

"I don't believe it is impossible, though it is highly unusual. For your peace of mind, if nothing else, would you like me request an appointment for you with the Clerk of the Wizengamot to discuss the subject?" Scrimgeour inquired, trying to decide if he should be offended that Lord Potter didn't seem to trust the Ministry's evaluation.

Potter's clear gratitude for his personal offer to assist soon overruled any negative feelings, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, sir, I would be very appreciative."

"Excellent," the Minister pronounced. "Now, we really must start making our way to chambers or else we'll be late."

It was then that Gawain spotted the first real crack in Potter's facade. It was obvious that the very last thing the teen wanted was to be seen accompanying the Minister to the Wizengamot. The Head Auror could see the younger wizard desperately searching for a way to avoid giving the appearance that he was in Scrimgeour's pocket while not offending or alienating the most senior politician in their world. He very nearly intervened before Potter started speaking.

"You honor me, sir, however, I promised I would meet Lady Longbottom just outside your office this morning. She should be here shortly, so please don't delay your own departure on my account."

Merlin's balls! There hadn't been even a hint of prevarication or hesitation in his delivery. If Gawain hadn't seen evidence of Potter's earlier panic with his own eyes, he would never have doubted that he was telling the truth. Gawain barely concealed his amusement when Rufus visibly blanched at Potter's announcement, though even he would concede that the Dowager Countess was a real battle-ax who made no bones about her lack of regard for the Minister. Her actions yesterday evening, blessedly focused on the Chief Warlock, served as a reminder that one only tangled with her at their own peril.

The Minister recovered quickly, intent on saving face but also avoiding an encounter with Lady Longbottom at all costs. "Yes...well, I'll leave you to it then, Lord Potter. If you'll excuse us."

"Of course," Potter said, inclining his head respectfully, though Robards noted a bit of mirth dancing in the other wizard's green eyes.

As he turned to escort the Minister toward the Wizengamot, Lady Longbottom rounded the corner and headed toward them, striking fear into the hearts of those around her, as usual. Hmmm...Potter hadn't been lying- he really had agreed to meet Longbottom before the session; what an enigma.

The Minister made a conscious effort not to move to the other side of the corridor as she approached. She eyed both men like the political predator she was, acknowledging them with a nod, "Rufus, Auror Robards."

"Lady Longbottom," the Minister greeted in an even tone.

Deciding to reward Scrimgeour for the expensive consult he'd authorized, Gawain stepped forward, "Sir, it's five til. You need to leave." He then turned to Augusta, "If you'll beg our pardon, My Lady."

"Of course. I'll see you in chambers," she said with a wide smile, her benign words sounding like a subtle threat...just as she'd intended, no doubt, the minx! He couldn't believe Potter was friends with her. She would eat him alive. Gryffindors!

As he and the Minister left the two prominent members of the Wizengamot behind, he heard Lady Longbottom respond to Potter's inaudible question, "Your Grace, he is wise to fear an army of sheep led by a lion."

****

To Be Continued ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: GrogMcLeod and PapillonMagique. Both of you left very nice comments on the last chapter, and I really appreciate it. Thanks also to KnightGalavant and a few guests for the new kudos, and AlexandraTara, serenity123, LC1203 for the new bookmarks!
> 
> Augusta's quote at the end was made by Alexander the Great.


	19. Hear Ye, Hear Ye - Lammas - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Lammas Session. This was originally posted in one big chunk, but I divided it to make it easier to read. 
> 
> The events in this chapter take place on 2 August 1998, covering the next sitting of the Wizengamot. This section included voting on new members and some McCarthy-esque grandstanding in the chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is AU. I apologize for the liberties I am not an expert on parliamentary procedure, and I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
> 
> I have used parts of Sen. Joseph McCarthy's famous Enemies Within speech given in Wheeling, West Virgina, as a guide for some of speeches in the chamber.

Previously..."Your Grace, he is wise to fear an army of sheep led by a lion."

************************** 

2 August 1998 - Wizengamot Chamber- Ministry of Magic - London- 10:58am

With less than two minutes to spare before the session would be officially called to order, Harry was determined to make his way to his box as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. Unfortunately, it seemed Fate had other plans.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, it felt like every eye was focused on him. The lighting in the room grew noticeably brighter and patches of white lilies and vibrant gladiolus erupted from the floor in front of the clerk's desk. Harry fervently hoped that whatever magic was causing his arrival to be heralded in such a way was only temporary, for although the Wizengamot didn't resemble a flower shop as it had the previous evening, there was still more greenery than one might strictly expect to find in a legislative chamber. Sighing as he entered his box, he resigned himself to the loss of his anonymity.

"Lord Potter," greeted a friendly voice. Baron Fermanagh was clearly happy to see him. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it."

"I had an earlier meeting that ran a bit late," Harry started to explain. But, before he could say any more, the Minister and his entourage stepped through the main door, mercifully drawing everyone's attention. Having now met Gawain Robards and observed his interactions with the Minister personally, Harry thought he could detect an undercurrent of mockery in the Head Auror's pantomime with the ceremonial staff. Whether it was directed toward Scrimgeour or the tradition itself, however, was anyone's guess.

Just as before, the procession ended with the Minister and his people arrayed on either side of the Chief Warlock's bench. Right on their heels, and in contrast to the previous session, Albus Dumbledore took his position behind the central podium so quickly, and with so little fanfare, that Harry hadn't even managed to get to his feet before the silver-haired wizard brought his gavel down to signal their start. "It is 11:00am, and I call this second sitting of the Wizengamot's Lammas Session to order. My Lords and Ladies, pray be seated."

In lieu of an opening statement, Dumbledore looked around the room and silently appraised the members of the body, subtly avoiding the corner of the room which now hosted the Potter seat. While waiting for the Headmaster to finish his pointed survey, Harry examined the layout and contents of his box with interest. He didn't know if he had merely been too preoccupied to notice last night, or if his formal swearing in had altered things in some way. Regardless, Harry was very pleased to note that, unlike yesterday, mixed in with the neat piles of fresh quills and parchment on the desk, he now had an Order Paper that listed the business planned for the sitting. Before he could do more than skim it, however, the elderly wizard finally deigned to address the chamber, "Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I pray that as we honor the God and Goddess for our abundant harvest, so too shall the blessing of the Lord and Lady Magic rest upon your wise counsels."

Harry almost laughed when he noticed the rather vicious smile Lady Longbottom wore as Dumbledore consulted the agenda, especially once it became apparent from the Minister's pale visage that he had seen her too. She hadn't indicated to him that she had any specific rabble-rousing in mind for the afternoon, but then, as he had learned, she reveled in her unpredictability. He had heard her insist more than once that, "Someone has to keep those patronizing bastards on their toes, it might as well be me."

After pulling a golden watch from his pocket and studying its 12 hands and celestial markings for a few moments, the Chief Warlock resumed his speech. "Continuing this chamber's business where it left off earlier today, please be advised that the Chief Clerk will once again be accepting written nominations for individuals to fill the lifetime peer seats vacated by Augustus Flint, Pellinore Parkinson, Ivar Rowle, and Torquil Travers. Members may put forward additional candidates for the next 40 minutes, at which time, the submission period will close. Once Sir Davies announces the names of the nominees, Honorable Members will be invited to debate the relative merits of each candidate before casting their votes."

Silently reviewing the process Andi had explained and that Dumbledore had just outlined, Harry did some mental math before pulling two pieces of parchment from his stack. Unlike the actual votes, which were unevenly distributed through the chamber by tier, 'nominations' were allocated by seat. Every member had the right to propose or second the same number of candidates as there were vacancies to be filled. In this case, every member except Harry had four nominations at their disposal. As he occupied both the Potter and Black seats, he could lay claim to eight. Considering his options, he watched as several Wizengamot members barely waited for the Supreme Mugwump to finish his sentence before leaving their seats to make their rounds, treating this like a social occasion. Making a decision, he inked one of the quills on the desk and wrote a single name on each sheet for consideration. While he was definitely more invested in the submission he'd made at yesterday's session, he believed that these two people could also bring valuable perspectives to the Wizengamot. With a satisfied nod, he signed his name to the nominations, re-planted his quill in the open pot of ink, and absently waved his right hand in the direction of the papers. Both pieces of parchment stood at attention like soldiers at a a uniform inspection before obediently folding themselves into elaborate origami cranes and soaring toward Sir Davies' tray. It was only then that Harry realized he had an audience.

"Duke Potter," Liam Muldoon addressed him with a very formal bow, the effect of which was almost immediately negated by the mischievous grin he shot Harry as he stomped on the foot of one of his companions to prevent the unknown wizard from saying anything about the fact that the 'Man-Who-Conquered' had neglected to use his wand to perform the magic they'd just witnessed. "I thought you might like to meet a couple of your neighbors."

Overcoming his brief surprise, Harry stood to greet the trio, struggling more than he had anticipated. They were all too polite to comment on it, of course, but he could tell that Lord Muldoon, at least, was somewhat concerned. He really needed to do something about the uncomfortable seating in the box; Arcturus Black had obviously been a masochist.

Still frowning slightly in the young noble's direction, the Irishman proceeded with his introductions, "May I present Lord Aeneas Cavendish, the Marquess of Hartington, and Lady Regina Clagg, Baroness of Wharton."

Reminding himself that proper etiquette dictated that he had to be the one to initiate both the physical contact and the conversation, Harry quickly offered his hand for the two hereditary peers to shake. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The honor is mine, Your Grace," replied the slightly excitable wizard with light, wavy hair and sharp features.

Harry knew that the Cavendishes were an ancient and wealthy family, second only to House Potter in rank within the Wizarding Peerage. The line was rather famous for producing both squibs and magicals in each generation, but no matter which side of the Statute the family members regularly conducted their business on, the House was filled with powerful politicians and brilliant leaders. Indeed, if memory served, Aeneus' elder brother or father was the 12th Duke of Devonshire and had recently been named Her Majesty's Representative at Ascot.

Harry idly wondered if the family's avid interest in horse-racing extended into the magical world as well; and if it did, did that make the Marquess a friend, if not necessarily an ally given their disparate political leanings, of Baronet Bulstrode? The current Lord Cavendish was a devout adherent to the Progressive platform and had shocked his family by being sorted into Hufflepuff, according to Ted. Apparently, while the odd Gryffindor or Ravenclaw had occasionally popped up, historically, most members of the House had been in Slytherin and rather proud of it. There were even rumors that they'd had a few parselmouths in the line, and Harry had to admit that the placement and prominence of the snake in their family crest lent some credence to the assertion. Regardless, Lady Longbottom classified the Marquess as a Dumbledore stooge, though her preferred terminology was naturally more vulgar. She indicated that while the mundane relations were certainly worth pursuing contacts with, Aeneas was, in her view, a lost cause. She had memorably described him to Harry at one point as "being so far up Dumbledore's arse, he could cast a spell out of the old coot's mouth!"

Bringing him out of his musings, the green-eyed Lady Clagg smiled at him in greeting. "How are you finding the session so far, Your Grace?"

"Yesterday was a bit more...eventful than I had anticipated, but I am very much looking forward to voting on the nominees this afternoon," Harry responded honestly.

He recalled that the Baroness of Wharton sat at the opposite end of their row from his own box, farthest from the door, with Lord Cavendish stationed immediately to her left. She was a declared member of the Neutral faction, though Andromeda reported that she routinely voted with both the Progressive and the Traditionalist blocs, depending on the issue.

Like Liam, Regina Clagg owed her seat to an influential ancestor: Chieftainess Elfrida Clagg, who coincidentally succeeded Bardock Muldoon as head of the Wizards' Council in the late 14th century and continued his crusade to delineate between magical beast and being.

Convinced that possessing the ability to speak in a human tongue was sufficient to enable political participation, Elfrida too was unsuccessful in resolving the being vs. beast debate. During her tenure, the Council chamber was alleged to have been completely rebuilt four separate times due to the destructive tendencies of trolls. She was also considered partially responsible for the strained relations between wizard-kind and the Centaurs which persisted to this day. Her work to protect endangered Magical species and habitats was revolutionary, however, as she was instrumental in outlawing the recreational hunting of the golden snidget as well as its use in quidditch matches.

Harry privately thought it a bit ironic that the ancestor of Lord Bragge, who had spoken in his favor the previous evening and whose box was only two places to the left of Lady Clagg's, was often lauded for being the first to introduce the snidget into the game. By Harry's estimation, both former leaders of the Wizards' Council contributed to the use of the snitch in modern quidditch in their own way, so he hoped there were no lingering feuds between the two Houses over the snidget issue.

After Harry had surpassed his tolerance for awkward small talk, Lady Clagg, surprisingly, was the one who finally took pity on him. "I think Lord Cavendish and I have taken enough of your time this morning, Your Grace, but we thank you for indulging us. And, Liam," she added, inclining her head toward the older wizard, "I appreciate your willingness to facilitate an introduction."

Not quite sure what to say, Harry replied as politely as possible, "Truly, I am the one who should be thanking you for making the effort to reach out. I am certain that we shall speak again soon. It was delightful to meet you both." He shook hands with them once more, attempting to hide his relief at the prospect of their departure.

"Well, that went better than I expected," declared the Irishman as soon as the two magicals had left the immediate vicinity. "He can be a terrible bore, and she typically takes excessive pleasure in mocking or insulting him, though in the most genteel fashion possible, it must be said. Between the two of them and Bragge, I swear, it's like sitting next to a bloody Runespoor sometimes," he joked. Abruptly adopting a more serious demeanor, he fixed his steady blue-eyed gaze on his young companion. "Are you feeling alright? If you'll pardon me for saying so, you seemed unwell when we adjourned yesterday."

Slightly taken aback by both the shift in conversation, as well as Lord Muldoon's forwardness, Harry replied truthfully, "I am doing fine today, thank you." He tried not to be too irritated by the searching look Liam subjected him to before he slowly nodded, as if he wasn't willing to take Harry's own word on the subject without some kind of corroborating evidence. "I definitely need to cast a few cushioning charms on these seats, though. I wasn't very comfortable after a few hours. That's allowed, isn't it?" The messy-haired wizard asked, suddenly concerned that the reason the benches were so hard was because spelling the boxes wasn't possible.

"Don't worry, it's perfectly permissible, though nothing lasts very long since the wards on the chamber fight against most foreign magic. I recommend recasting them every time, just in case; it's what I do," Muldoon explained.

That made sense, Harry supposed, though he personally hadn't noticed much resistance to anything he'd cast so far. He couldn't deny that there were strong wards on the room, however, as well as an unquestionably large reservoir of ambient magic in the chamber; almost like Hogwarts, but more...aggressive somehow. Perhaps that interfered with the potency and staying power of certain spells? He'd already heard several people complain about it, though the Potter Lord was half convinced it was a psychological limitation rather than a thaumaturgical one. Members had been told for so long that it was a problem, that they believed it to be one, making it self-fulfilling. Still, Harry hadn't detected even a hint of fading spell work on the box last night, so there could be something to the claims. After all, if there were traces of magic more than a century old still lingering in certain places at Arundel Castle, surely something should remain on the box after a mere decade unless outside influences prevented it? He expressed as much to Lord Muldoon as he contemplated adding a few spells he had learned when assisting with the set-up for his party.

"The wards are the most likely reason for the absence of magic, but Arcturus Black was an austere man. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest to learn that the Earl of Dartmouth had never cast anything because he viewed concessions to physical comfort as a sign of weakness. He was a hard man to know, but an honorable one. He and your grandfather held a great deal of mutual respect for each other. They were brothers-in-law, as I am sure you were aware, and, despite occupying opposite ends of the political spectrum 90% of the time, certainly viewed one another as family — a distinction that has always carried significant weight in both Houses."

Harry enjoyed hearing about his grandfather, and Sirius' as well. It hadn't really occurred to him previously how closely intertwined his two Houses truly were, what with his grandmother being Lord Arcturus Black's younger sister. Sirius and James had been something like second cousins, and thus Harry had enjoyed ties of blood and magic to the Black line even before Sirius had named him his heir. Indeed, it was probably why the family magic had allowed Harry to ascend; he had the strongest remaining claim to the position of paterfamilias, and the Black family magic simply adored the kind of power Harry could bring to bear when the situation required. The ring had practically leapt onto his finger during the claiming ritual, the magic easily - almost eagerly - accepting a subordinate role to the Potter legacy. It certainly went some way toward explaining why so many Blacks had fallen under Voldemort's sway. Needless to say, the Goblins had been amused.

"Molliare Maxima," he incanted softly, making sure that Muldoon and anyone else observing his activities saw him using his wand to make the modifications. He certainly didn't need any rumors circulating about his...talents; he'd been careless with the parchment, allowing the confines of the box to give him a false sense of privacy. He couldn't afford to forget that sitting in the Wizengamot was like being on stage: everything was calculated, and not even the smallest gesture went unnoticed or unremarked upon. It was a veritable fishbowl, and Harry was an exotic addition.

Chuckling to himself, Lord Muldoon shook his head, amused by the force of the spell despite the fact that the other wizard was obviously trying to draw attention away from his power by showing that he generally needed his wand for magic. "I don't think you have to worry about that one wearing off anytime soon," the older wizard commented dryly.

Blushing slightly, Harry realized he might have slightly overpowered the spell. "I just wanted to make sure it took," he defended, lamely. Mentally shrugging, Harry decided a little embarrassment was worth ensuring he could actually walk out of the chamber this evening. Plus, he didn't think the Irish Baron would say anything to anyone about it.

The sharp rap of wood against wood echoed through the room, interrupting conversations and sending a clear signal to members that business would be resuming shortly. Having received the message, Liam Muldoon gave a slight bow before heading back to his box. With twinkling eyes and a knowing smile, the Chief Warlock addressed the body, "The nomination period is now closed. I ask all members to return to their seats so that the Clerk may announce the candidates under consideration. Remember that, distinct from the voting process, each seat may nominate or second up to four individuals, regardless of its tier. Members may also formally withdraw their support for one nomination in favor of another during certain designated periods in the process."

Dumbledore paused dramatically and clapped as four balls of light appeared on the ledges in front of the seats of every member, except Harry, whose box sported eight. "These lights will track your participation and submissions." Harry noted with interest that some of the orbs around the chamber were lit, while others remained dark, presumably to denote how many nominations a member had already made versus how many bids remained for each member to offer. Harry, for instance, still had five submissions to award, should he so choose. "A candidate must receive at least five nominations to be put on the ballot for voting this afternoon. Members are not obligated to use all of their available nominations, but they may allocate additional support to individual nominees as names are read. Sir Davies," Dumbledore addressed the Chief Clerk, "You now have the floor."

The square-jawed clerk thanked the venerable wizard before turning his attention to the assembled parliamentarians, "Lords and Ladies, be advised that the following individuals have been nominated for lifetime peerage in the Wizengamot." Davies flicked his wand at the scrolls of parchment on the table that were not yet sorted, causing the papers to rapidly divide into separate groupings. Picking up the first pile, he began to read, "Madam Cordelia Malkin was nominated by Sir Meliot Bulstrode and seconded by two other members. Ariana Lufkin was nominated by Sir Fergus MacMillan and seconded by nine other members." The clerk placed the first stack of parchment on the opposite side of the table from where he had just placed Lufkin's papers, probably because one of the candidates had already received the requisite number of nominations, while the other had not. Harry speculated that whoever had submitted the first parchment for a given candidate was considered the 'sponsor' or 'nominator', while subsequent parchments were registered as 'seconds'.

Taking a drink of water, Davies continued, "Hamish MacFarlan was nominated by Brian Ollerton and seconded by 13 additional members. Alev Wildsmith was nominated by Nikesh Khan and seconded by four others. Florean Fortescue was nominated by Bertie Bott and seconded by another member." Harry smiled, because somebody was obviously very fond of sweets. Although, upon reflection, the ice cream magnate cum historian probably wouldn't be a bad addition to the chamber. He made a note on his parchment.

"Agnes Greengrass was nominated by Lord Harry Potter and seconded by three other members. Kevin Broadmoor was nominated by Devlin Whitehorn and seconded by seven other members. Tilden Toots was nominated by Amos Diggory and seconded by seventeen more members. Sebastian Greengrass was nominated by Sir Claudin Burke and seconded by another fifteen members." Harry wondered if Daphne's mother and father could both earn a seat, or if it violated Ministry policy. As the Clerk hadn't commented, it must be possible. The fact that Mr. Greengrass had received four times the number of nominations that his wife had, despite the fact that she was a world renowned historian and scholar, demonstrated the male-dominated character of the Wizengamot, especially outside the elected tier. There were only two female hereditary members, and Neville's grandmother was a regent. Worse, only two women presently occupied lifetime peer seats. While there wasn't much he could do about the former, given the patrilineal inheritance system in most families, he fully intended to spend his six votes and leverage all of his considerable political clout to diversify representation in the body's middle tier.

Sir Davies ran a hand through his dark hair before summoning several more stacks of paper from the far side of the table and continuing to read, "Septima Wenlock was nominated by Dame Griselda Marchbanks and seconded by two other members." Harry had just noticed that as the names were announced, they appeared on the wall above the main door along with the nominating party and number of nominations the candidate had received. It looked almost like the Arrivals and Departures board of a major airport or rail terminal. Any candidate who had received fewer than five nominations was listed in red, while the other names appeared in black.

Refocusing his attention on the proceedings, he heard Sir Tristan say, "...Dunbar was nominated by Lady Augusta Longbottom and seconded by another member." Damn, only he and Augusta had supported Dunbar's elevation. Though Harry would be the first to admit that they hadn't chosen her because they were impressed by her voting record during her two terms in office, but because they thought they could pull her away from Dumbledore's voting bloc. Mentally shrugging, he hoped enough people would want to try and make an alliance with the Dowager Countess by supporting her nominee; and, if not, there would be plenty of other opportunities in the future to try and decrement the Progressive power base.

"Darrien O'Hare was nominated by Lord Liam Muldoon and seconded by four other members. Felicia Tugwood was nominated by Amethyst Brown and seconded by six other members." Harry detected a note of pride in the clerk's voice as he announced the next name, "Gwendolyn Morgan was nominated by Sir Randolph Spudmore and seconded by five other members." Tristan Davies was clearly a Harpies fan.

The list of names continued, with more quidditch players, politicians, entrepreneurs, and even two members of the Weird Sisters joining the ranks of those who had received nominations. It seemed to Harry that if you had a Chocolate Frog card, or were related to someone who did, you were considered eligible to sit upon the wizarding world's primary legislative and judicial body. It was a bit surreal.

In the end, with six seats vacant, 144 of the Wizengamot's 176 total possible submissions had been put forward in support of 23 candidates, twelve of whom had received fewer than five nominations in the first round. Unfortunately, at this stage, none of the people Harry had put forward had enough support to go on the ballot. However, there were still 32 nomination slips up for grabs, and five of them were in his direct control. He could see that across the room Lady Longbottom had reserved one of her own nominations for the second round and that Lord Muldoon still had two submissions to work with as well. So, despite the slightly disappointing turnout for his three nominees, Harry felt relatively optimistic about the current state of play.

Taking a moment to scrutinize the name board and reshuffle his parchment, Sir Tristan Davies renewed the degraded sonorous charm he had placed on himself earlier, silencing the chatter that had erupted once the last name had been read. "During the written nomination phase, no member may make more than one submission for a candidate. In the subsequent verbal nomination round, members may offer some or all of their remaining submissions in support of any candidate by tapping their wands to the desired number of lights available to them. During this phase, members may also withdraw and re-allocate any of their previously proposed written nominations by standing to be recognized by the chair and informing this body of the change so that it may be recorded. If at any point during this process, a candidate falls below five nominations as a result of reallocation, that candidate will be presented to the floor for consideration by all members, just like the other candidates with an insufficient number of nominations to go on the ballot after the first round. At the end of this round, only those candidates with five or more nominations may move to the next stage."

The procedural expert stopped for a moment to look around the room and ensure everyone understood his directions before continuing, "In the final step before voting, the sponsor for each candidate must confirm they support their nominee's placement on the ballot. Each member may only serve as the nominator for a single candidate. If the registered nominator does not support the candidate's placement or cannot sponsor the candidate due to the nomination restrictions, then any member who has seconded that nomination and supports that candidate's inclusion on the ballot may serve as the new sponsor, provided they are not already serving in that capacity for another candidate. Are there any questions?"

Many members' eyes had glazed over slightly by the end of the explanation, but there were enough head shakes around the room to satisfy the clerk. "I yield the floor to the Chief Warlock."

"Thank you, Sir Davies," Dumbledore acknowledged, freeing the end of his beard, which had somehow managed to get tucked into his belt while the clerk had been speaking. "Now, to kick things off, will any members support Flavia Dunbar's elevation from elected member to lifetime peer? Ms. Dunbar was nominated by Lady Longbottom." As Harry debated about whether to use one or two of his remaining submissions for Dunbar, a slew of new orbs flickered in the rows closest to the floor on both sides of the chamber. These were the areas where the elected members of the body sat, and many of them appeared keen to support the placement of one of their own in a lifetime peer seat. Brown, Appleby, Bell, and 'Ali all voted in her favor.

The Clerk shot a spell at the list of names above the door, changing Flavia's nomination number to six and putting her name in black to show that she had received a sufficient number of nominations to go on the ballot. Dumbledore moved immediately to the next candidate still listed in red, "Madam Cordelia Malkin was nominated by Sir Meliot Bustrode in the first round. Will any other members offer their support for this master clothier and seamstress to join our ranks?"

Harry touched his wand to one of the unlit orbs at the front of his box, deciding to earn some favor with Millicent's father, who he thought could conceivably be persuaded to join the Neutral faction in the face of his own bloc's diminishing influence. That he was also supporting the woman responsible for making the very first set of clothing he could remember owning that actually fit him was an added incentive. He saw Daphne and her father give him subtle nods of approval from the gallery, though he received a raised eyebrow from Augusta Longbottom. Harry reasoned that she must not be aware of the distinct possibility that within the next few years, Millicent, and by extension Meliot, could be joining her family. He thanked Merlin and Morgana both that it wasn't his job to deliver that news. For Neville's sake, he hoped the Dowager Countess would react favorably. The odds were decent, as he knew she didn't harbor any prejudice against Slytherins, merely supporters of Voldemort - which the Bulstrodes decidedly were not; but one never really knew with these sorts of things.

The Earl of Northumberland, Rogerus Avery, and Garrick Olivander joined Harry in pushing the businesswoman over the finish line and potentially onto the ballot. The number next to Madam Malkin's name on the display flashed several times, like the shot clock on a score board, until it finally stopped at 6 and shifted to black.

"The next candidate to be reviewed in this second round of nominations is the creative confectioner and successful business owner, Mr. Florean Fortescue. Who will join Sir Bertie Bott and Sir Tiberius Ogden in endorsing this nominee?" Harry consulted his parchment and touched his wand to one of his lights, leaving only three dark. Immediately, Percival Gamp, Viscout Bragge, Brunor Abbot, and the newly elected Allegra Hamblin also signaled their support. There must have been a few others he hadn't seen, because the clerk recorded a total of ten nominations for the ice cream king on the board. He may not have been on the forefront of many minds when initially considering candidates for the peerage, but it was clear that Fortescue, like his sticky toffee pudding sundae, was a crowd favorite once it was proposed as an option.

"Now then, will this body see Mrs. Agnes Greengrass on the ballot? She was nominated by Lord Potter."

So there would be absolutely no confusion about where his support lay and how deep it went, Harry made a production of tapping another orb to endorse her candidacy. Lady Longbottom, Lord Muldoon, Sir Bulstrode, Madam Bones, and four others followed suit.

Then, in a move that Harry had definitely not anticipated, one of the elected members, Edward Ewhurst, stood to be recognized.

"Mr. Ewhurst, you wish to reallocate one of your nominations?"

"Aye, Chief Warlock. I hereby withdraw my support for Oliver Gambol and proffer it to Mrs. Greengrass instead," the brown-haired wizard announced steadily.

As Agnes had more than enough nominations to go on the ballot at this point, Ewhurst's decision could only be viewed as an attempt to gain membership into Harry's circle of political allies. The support was appreciated, certainly, but he could tell by the set of Augusta's mouth that she didn't think he'd paid sufficient tribute to earn a place in their exclusive club. And, Harry could sort of see her point. After all, Ewhurst had been the only one to propose Gambol, whose family ran the Hogwarts Express; so it was no great hardship to reallocate his nomination from a dead-end candidate to one who had the potential to garner him some goodwill from several popular figures and families with influence across the political spectrum. On the other hand, there were still seven candidates to be reviewed during this round, so he could have just as easily elected to give his nomination to one of them, where his support might have made a bigger difference to the final outcome and thus netted him more gratitude than this move would. It bore further consideration.

Harry suspected Augusta's biggest reservation was the man's well-established alliance with Dumbledore and the Progressive faction. In their collective analysis, Ewhurst had never been considered even a remote possibility for defection. She likely believed him to be an aspiring mole, and Harry would defer to her judgement; though he was at least willing to entertain the idea that Ewhurst might have wised up to Dumbledore's nonsense and genuinely be looking for a way out. Augusta would say he was naive, and she had a point. But, hadn't most people thought he was Dumbledore's man through and through, and look at how wrong that turned out to be? It would be foolish to forget that even a pawn can become a queen if it reaches the 8th rank.

Dumbledore briskly declared, "Oliver Gambol's name will be struck from the board...unless another member wishes to sponsor the candidate?" Once it was clear that there wouldn't be an eleventh-hour savior, the rail operator's name disappeared from the list in an eye-catching puff of red smoke.

As soon as he was sure that everyone's attention was re-focused on the podium, the Chief Warlock announced the next candidate. "Madam Griselda Marchbanks nominated elected member of this body and famed arithmancer Septima Wenlock for lifetime peerage. Who among you will stand with her to recognize Ms. Wenlock's contributions to the fields of warding and spell crafting?"

Making eye contact with Augusta, Harry lit his seventh orb in support of the Arithmancy prodigy, and Liam Muldoon and Lady Clagg joined him. Suddenly, three elected members stood and waited for the chair to call on them. "Mr. Fawcett, you may present your position to the chamber."

"Chief Warlock Dumbledore, I would like to withdraw my nomination of Heathcote Barbary and award it to Ms. Wenlock," the blond man declared with a hint of sheepishness. Harry heard Lord Muldoon snort in amusement to his right.

"Let the record reflect Mr. Lionel Fawcett's reallocation to Ms. Wenlock's candidacy," Dumbledore announced, scanning the chamber, before calling on another member. "Yes, Mr. Fairbourne?"

"I too wish to withdraw my support for Heathcote Barbary, though he is still my favorite guitarist of all time," a thin man who Augusta would classify as someone old enough to know better announced unapologetically. "I would like to endorse my neighbor here in this chamber, Ms. Wenlock, in lieu. She will make an excellent addition to the ranks of the lifetime peers."

A smattering of, "hear, hears" broke out around the room following Clegis Fairbourne's testimonial, and two more members surged to their feet. Marquess Cavendish, who Harry had met earlier today, was one of them.

"Before I recognize the three standing members, I must inform this body that Heathcote Barbary's name will be removed from the list of candidates unless another member would like to re-nominate him?" The Wizengamot nearly echoed with the silence that followed. That was a no, then. Harry wasn't entirely sure why anyone had thought the Weird Sisters' lead guitarist belonged on the Wizengamot for life, but who was he to judge? As another name quite literally went up in smoke, Dumbledore worked his way through the three parliamentarians who had yet to be recognized.

It turned out that all three, including his high-ranking peer, moved to withdraw their initial submissions, but chose to reserve those nominations rather than casting them in favor of another candidate immediately. These reallocations spelled the end to yet another parliamentary candidate. It seemed that, like his bandmate, popular drummer Orsino Thurston wasn't going to see the inside of the Wizengamot any time soon. Harry was curious if either musician even had an interest in politics.

With eight nominations remaining to be assigned, including the three that had been reclaimed, the Wizengamot still had four candidates to consider. Harry himself had only a single nomination left to bestow. Even if the support was fairly evenly distributed among the remaining nominees, there were only enough votes left for two of the four to be put on the ballot. Things were about to get interesting. He could see several members frantically scribbling on parchment.

"Our next nominee is the head of Hogsmeade's premiere estate agency, Mr. Petrus Pridgeon. He was nominated by Mr. Lavain Bole and seconded by Lord Trevor Maxwell, the Baron de Ros. Will any other members support Mr. Prigeon's candidacy?" Dumbledore inquired tepidly.

Harry was familiar with the name. And, though he'd never met the wizard in person, he also knew what the man looked like, since - in true Lockhartian fashion- he had his picture plastered on every one of his firm's signs and advertisements. Harry had received an owl from Pridgeon last year inquiring after any properties he might be interested in listing or letting after he'd taken up the Black Lordship. He knew the agency specialized in magical residential and commercial properties, though it maintained a partnership with Savills and Hamptons International to keep a foot in the mundane world as well. The solicitation had been polite, but smarmy. Harry wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that Pridgeon hoped to buy his way into the chamber in order to orchestrate a tax cut for himself or to increase his business contacts while gutting any regulatory statutes governing the property sector.

Petrus only had two nominations currently, both from members of the so-called 'dark' faction. So he, like the other three candidates whose names were still in red on the board, would need additional support to go on to the next phase of consideration. Claudin Burke was the first to light his last orb, with Selises Tande, Lucius Malfoy, and Viscount Anthony Lindsay all tentatively offering their subsequent submissions to bolster Pridgeon's chances. Clearly the decimated Traditionalist faction had decided it was better to bring in someone beholden to them from outside than risk losing one of their few remaining seats by trying to get an elected member of their faction elevated. They understandably lacked confidence in their public prospects in the post-war climate. So, despite the fact that elected members Marcus Bletchley and Xerses Lofthouse were both still up for consideration, the remaining Traditionalist and darker Neutral nominations all flocked to Prigeon. The real estate mogul had obtained the necessary support by the skin of his sparkling white teeth.

There were only four more nominations available, unless someone supporting one of the three remaining candidates opted to reallocate their submission. One of these berths, for lack of a better word, belonged to Harry. Marquess Cavendish too had an endorsement to offer, along with Nimbus corporation CEO Devlin Whitehorn and the newly elected Calogreant Bell. Depending on how many of these unclaimed nominations went to the next candidate, Harry believed it was possible that those who had stood for Bletchley and Lofthouse would consolidate their support in an effort to get at least one of those members on the ballot for the lifetime peerage seat. If they all broke for Urion Flourish, however, there would be no point.

"We are nearing the end of our list of nominees, so I ask that you all give these proceedings the attention they deserve before we break for lunch," admonished the Chief Warlock, twinkling at the restless shifting and sporadic conversation coming from various corners of the room from behind his half-moon glasses. He could imagine Augusta grinding her teeth as the headmaster smiled indulgently at them from his raised dais like they were rowdy children impatient for the end of class.

If he kept it up, Harry was afraid she might go ahead and declare that honor duel. Truly, if Dumbledore had any sense, he would be worried about Lady Longbottom hexing his bollocks off and feeding them to her owl.

Before Harry could give that disturbing visual any more thought, the Chief Warlock asked, "Who will support the candidacy of the bookstore owner and author with whom you are all familiar, Mr. Urion Flourish? Sir Ollivander nominated him in the first round." Quick as a flash, the last four submissions went in his favor, and then it was over.

The clerk cast several spells on the board to reflect Flourish's successful bid and to remove Marcus Bletchley and Xerses Lofthouse from further consideration. Neither wizard had received enough nominations to make it on the ballot.

**************************  
║ Candidate ║ Noms ║ Sponsor ║

║ Tildon Toots ║ 18 ║ Diggory ║

║Septima Wenlock║ 8 ║Marchbanks ║

║ Sebastian Greengrass ║ 16 ║ Burke 

║Felicia Tugwood ║ 7 ║ Brown ║

║ Agnes Greengrass ║ 14 ║ Potter ║ 

║Gwendolyn Morgan║ 6 ║ Spudmore ║

║ Hamish McFarlan ║ 13 ║ Ollerton ║ 

║Flavia Dunbar ║ 6 ║ Longbottom ║

║Delilah Carmichael ║12║Thistlethwaite 

║Cordelia Malkin ║ 6 ║ Bulstrode║

║ Freesia Burberry ║ 11 ║ Cavendish ║ 

║ Petrus Pridgeon ║ 6 ║ Bole ║

║ Ariana Lufkin ║ 10 ║ MacMillan ║ 

║Urion Flourish ║ 6 ║ Ollivander ║

║ Florean Fortesque ║ 10 ║ Bott ║ 

║Alev Wildsmith ║ 5 ║ Khan ║

║ Kevin Broadmore ║ 8 ║ Whitehorn ║ 

║ Darrien O'Hare ║ 5 ║ Muldoon ║

**************************

"In preparation for the next round, I ask that you all review the board to ensure it is accurate and to inform your next steps. In the meantime, I understand that the President of the Diagon Alley Business Owners' Association wanted to briefly address the chamber about an emergency funding request that is slated to be voted upon later today. Please join me in welcoming Mr. Henry Gray-Nicolls."

The sturdily built owner of Quality Quidditch Supplies looked awkward in his formal robes as he rose from his seat at the end of the second row reserved for Ministry personnel and special guests. He pulled desperately at the collar of his shirt which seemed too tight around his thick neck, wiping the sweaty palm of his right hand on his robes before removing his wand from his sleeve to cast an amplification charm. Harry noted that it took Gray three attempts to get the spell to take, which did nothing to increase the flagging confidence of the nervous businessman. Visibly frazzled, the brown-haired man took a deep breath and spoke, "Lords and Ladies, and Honorable Members of the Wizengamot, the business owners of Diagon Alley feel that the wards on the shopping district are too weak to effectively protect the people who live and shop on the alley in the event of an attack. Since it is only by Morgana's grace that Lord Potter ended the war before magical London could become a battleground, we are requesting your immediate assistance with this dire security matter."

Harry fought the urge to retreat into the shadowed corners of his box as at least thirty pairs of eyes sought him out following Mr. Gray-Nicolls' recognition of his efforts. He really hoped the fascination and excessive hype over his role in the war would die down soon. He was hardly the only one who fought; not that you'd know it, the way most people talked. It was embarrassing and exhausting.

Tuning back into the speech, he heard, "Unfortunately, despite the victory over You-Know-Who, there are still plenty of sympathizers and would-be terrorists who would love nothing more than to bring magical Britain to its knees. Think of your children and grandchildren, shopping for school supplies or buying you a present for Yule. Are you comfortable leaving their safety up to chance? According to three independent firms, the wards on the central shopping area exceeded their maximum recommended use date more than twenty years ago. The current warding scheme is basically useless. Even the muggle repelling wards are failing, with Tom at the Leaky Cauldron reporting a twenty-fold increase in random muggles making their way into the pub over the last decade. According to his records, which match the Ministry's files, nearly fifty muggles without any affiliation with the wizarding world came through his doors in the last year."

There were several audible gasps from the audience, and Harry could see Madam Bones glaring at Robards and Scrimgeour. She obviously hadn't been aware of the extent of the issue, making him wonder if the Ministry reports Gray mentioned had been deliberately buried by someone. "In addition to the problems with the wards, there aren't enough Auror or MLE patrols, especially in Knockturn Alley, to dissuade even petty criminals from damaging property, stealing, or making a general nuisance of themselves to the law-abiding citizens who just want to be able to browse, shop, and have a good time. In conclusion, Britain's largest magical business district needs your support. Updating the wards and increasing security on the area is going to take time, money, and resources. We believe this needs to be a joint public-private initiative to be successful." The wizard paused, and despite his rough start, Harry could see why the shopkeepers had elected Mr. Gray-Nicolls as their representative. His speech was emotionally compelling, but also provided facts and statistics to appeal to the few more logically-minded among them. "Don't you think saving the Diagon Alley shopping district is worth it? I know I do. Help us make it a safe place for your families to spend time by voting for the security funding measure this afternoon. I thank you for your time," he concluded, bowing slightly to the chamber before exiting through the side door on the right.

"You'll find the warding reports and information about muggles in the Leaky Cauldron in your books, if you wish to peruse it in more detail. Now then, Sir Davies, are you prepared to finalize the names of the candidates who shall appear on the ballot for this afternoon's vote?"

"Yes, Chief Warlock. Once we complete the attestation and certification process, I will ensure that each member receives a copy of the ballot," the serious, dark-haired wizard replied.

"Honorable members, are there any discrepancies or questions with regard to either the remaining candidates, their sponsors, or the total number of nominations they are recorded as having received? Excellent...now by my esti—"

Dumbledore was interrupted by Sir Fergus MacMillan; the wan complexion and heavy bags under his eyes revealing that he was, understandably, still grieving the loss of his son. "I have business for this body to consider," the ruddy-faced blonde man announced. His strong voice contrasting sharply with his disheveled appearance.

Adopting a gentle tone, as if MacMillan were a wild animal he was afraid would attack, Dumbledore replied, "Good Sir, the floor is not open for new business at this time, though supplementary agenda items for the session may be proposed during the afternoon recess."

"My business is very germane to the current proceedings. Indeed, I believe it would be a miscarriage of justice if this body were to vote on these nominees without considering my motion," MacMillan insisted, his veneer of calm starting to crack.

Harry couldn't decide if the debate was a charade, and Dumbledore knew what MacMillan intended to propose, or if the Progressive faction's poster boy had gone rogue. He was leaning toward the mourning wizard acting as a loose cannon, since MacMillan hadn't attended the opening sitting of the session yesterday evening, which surely hadn't been part of the plan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the Greengrasses appeared riveted.

When Dumbledore still hesitated, Harry imagined Augusta's scathing criticism of the aging wizard's inability to do his one single job as chair of the Wizengamot. "If it pleases this body, I would like to re-frame my motion. In truth, I have questions related to a few discrepancies with the nominations I would like to raise," the Hufflepuff amended.

Turning to the Chief Clerk, who nodded, Dumbledore smiled at his staunch political ally and declared brightly, "In that case, Sir MacMillan, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Chief Warlock and my honorable colleagues," he stated pleasantly as he took stock of his fellow members, jaw clenched and eyes glinting dangerously when they brushed over certain faces. If looks could kill, the Earl of Northumberland would have just taken an Avada Kedavra between the eyes.

"In this first Wizengamot session since the defeat of Voldemort," the Hufflepuff was oblivious to the shudders of those around him at his use of the Dark Lord's name, "I would like to be able to talk about entering a new age of peace; I would like to be able to say that those we lost represent the last drops of wizarding blood that will ever be spilled in the name of bigotry, greed, and oppression."

The devastated father was forced to pause for a moment, choking up at the mention of the human cost of the war before reigning in his emotions. "After all," he continued, once more in full control of himself, "the Light prevailed decisively." Here he made a point to seek out The-Man-Who-Conquered in the crowd. Harry decided to take it as a sign that, despite his fears, the MacMillans didn't hold him responsible for Ernie's death. Re-focusing on the blonde Ministry official's speech, he pondered the rhetorical question posed to the audience. "Shouldn't we have a long peace to look forward to? You would think so, wouldn't you? However, just like the brief interludes of freedom which followed Gridelwald's War and Voldemort's first rise, I fear this is not truly a period of peace. I know in my heart that the God of War has not been satisfied, though his rages may have temporarily cooled. He is still pacing and rumbling as our enemies rejoin society, donning their cloaks of respectability once more, even while they prepare in the shadows for the next battle. You can see it, feel it, and hear it all the way from the hills of Hogsmeade, to the shores of Brighton, right over into the very heart of the Ministry itself. Today we are engaged in a final, all-out battle between bigotry and inclusion, between extremism and progress, between our blood-purist past and our bright, peaceful future. The Dark Lord may be gone, but his ideology still exists, rotting the British wizarding world from the inside out. It has been said that when a great society is destroyed, it will not be because of enemies from without but rather because of enemies from within. My fellow magicals, unless we face this fact and do something about it, we shall all continue to pay for the treacherous actions of the prejudiced few who have been given every opportunity in our society. This is glaringly true, even here in the Wizengamot."

Observing several shocked faces in the crowd, MacMillans's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile, his eyes burning with the fire of a true believer. "I see that some of you have doubts? Fine, I shall prove it to you. Let's take the case of a family who has extensively shaped British magical policy over the years. In the distant past, members of House Avery advised our King, actively served on the Wizards' Council, and have held a hereditary seat in this body since its creation. Indeed, Rogerus Avery, styled the Earl of Northumberland, sits right behind me. Now, Lord Avery has the same responsibilities in this chamber that the rest of us do: to uphold justice, represent the people, and serve the good of the realm. Despite his oaths, however, he has voted repeatedly to cut funding to and curtail the authority of the DMLE, most egregiously during the late 1970's and over the last three years, when Voldemort was at the height of his power. He has also supported numerous laws which advocate for judicial penalties on the basis of blood purity rather than the severity of the crime, as well as bills that limit the educational and employment opportunities of those who cannot lay claim to two sets of magical grandparents. Does this sound like the voting record of someone whose allegiance is to magical Britain?"

Despite MacMillan's triumphant declaration, the mood of most in the chamber ranged from outrage to uncertainty. Even Dumbledore seemed to be at a loss about MacMillan's confidence in achieving his endgame. "No? I happen to agree, but, trust me, it gets worse. Rogerus Avery is recognized by blood and magic as the head of a House whose members have willingly served the monster, Voldemort. This isn't about one bad apple; this is multiple generations during both wars indiscriminately torturing and killing the very citizens that Lord Avery is sworn to protect. Lest you think the Earl's greatest crime is negligent disinterest in his families' activities, I happen to know that Lord Avery himself was questioned by Aurors in 1997 for providing information to known Deatheaters, including his nephew, who murdered my only child in Hogsmeade on June 26th of this year. And yet, he was never prosecuted!"

"Order, Order!" Dumbledore shouted, banging his gavel over the chaos to no avail. While few could say definitively if MacMillan's tale was an indication of depravity and conspiracy at the highest levels of their government or a pernicious blurring of truth and fantasy, one thing that was clear to everyone was that the Hufflepuff was just getting started.

Speaking over the Chief Warlock's futile attempts to bring him to heel, Fergus MacMillan's address reached a fevered pitch, "I submit to you that Rogerus Avery's acts constitute high treason and betrayal of a sacred trust! He is an Oath-Breaker, and we have an obligation in our own service to the realm to remove such men and their warped and twisted ideals from positions of power so that we may have a new birth of honesty and decency in our government, so that we will not be forced to bury any more of our sons or daughters or brothers or sisters in the name of unholy wars, and so that the peace that so many have fought and died for truly lasts!"

"Enough!" Dumbledore's voice rang through the chamber, the magical compulsion lacing the command briefly silencing the din.

"Great," Harry heard Lord Muldoon grouse to his right, "Now it'll be ages before we get to eat lunch." He was pretty sure the Irishman was making a joke for his benefit

To Be Continued ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: GrogMcLeod, PapillonMagique, ShaeVizla, and linuxrocs. You all left very nice comments, and I really appreciate it. Thanks also to PrettyLittleDwarfWoman, IrDA, ShaeVizla, Tigerpan, AvadaGreenEyes, KnightGalavant, christinaz13, and a few guests for the new kudos! Thanks also to PrettyLittleDwarfWoman and summer164 for new bookmarks!


	20. Hear Ye, Hear Ye - Lammas - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of Lammas Session. This was originally posted in one big chunk, but I divided it to make it easier to read. 
> 
> The events in this chapter take place on 2 August 1998, covering the next sitting of the Wizengamot. This section included voting on new members and appropriations items, a little political faction caucus action, and some McCarthy-esque grandstanding in the chamber. The session wouldn’t be complete without Augusta taking a bit of a swipe at Dumbledore as well. Ted and Remus do some research, and what are the Unspeakables up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is AU. I apologize for the liberties I am not an expert on parliamentary procedure, and I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
> 
> I have used parts of statements made by journalist Edward R. Murrow in response to McCarthy's anti-Communist crusade in the early 1950s as a guide for some of speeches in the chamber.

~~Previously..."Great," Harry heard Lord Muldoon grouse to his right, "Now it'll be ages before we get to eat lunch." He was pretty sure the Irishman was making a joke for his benefit.~~

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2 August 1998 - Wizengamot Chamber- Ministry of Magic - London- 1:42pm

In a not entirely unexpected development, Lord Avery stood to be recognized. Dumbledore sounded tired as he made a half-hearted attempt to dissuade the elderly Earl from seeking the floor, "Lord Avery, as I explained previously, the floor is not open for new business."

"Chief Warlock, do you honestly expect me to let these unfounded accusations and ham-fisted attempt at a character assassination go unchallenged? To quote your partisan, I would consider it a 'miscarriage of justice,' not to mention incontrovertible proof that you lack the requisite neutrality to maintain your position, if I were not given an opportunity to defend myself from this craven attack."

MacMillan bristled at Avery's characterization, while Augusta seemed torn between delight over the fact that Avery had Dumbledore over a Cauldron and disgust that she found herself agreeing with Rogerus Avery on anything.

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed, "you may briefly address the chamber."

"I am grateful to the chair and my colleagues for their ...forbearance. I will endeavor to keep my remarks short," the Earl of Northumberland promised. He was proving to be a more powerful orator than Harry had expected, given his age and apparent frailty. "I would like to begin by reminding all members of the oath I have sworn before this body. While it was many years ago, it is still the same oath you heard Lord Potter-Black swear on the sacred rod and book yesterday evening, and it is as binding on me today as it was when I claimed my seat after my patriarch was killed fighting against Grindelwald's forces. Moreover, it is considerably more exacting and demanding than the oaths 4/5ths of you have sworn, including my accuser. As I retain both my life and my magic, I can say with 100% certainty that I am not an oath breaker, and that I have always considered it my greatest privilege and most sacred duty to serve our realm ands its people."

Several members of the Wizengamot responded to Avery's statement by banging on their tables, and not all of his supporters were members of the Traditionalist faction; Harry saw numerous order papers being waved about, including Lord Muldoon's. Harry supposed it was hard to argue with the sentiment the Earl had expressed about service; even he felt a stirring of agreement with the words, though he had absolutely zero intention of acting on it. His own feelings about House Avery weren't that far off from MacMillan's, though he didn't necessarily share the Hufflepuff's zealotry for cleansing their ranks. Maybe it was hopelessly idealistic, but Harry still believed that opposition and differences of opinion kept everyone honest and resulted in better policy. Hadn't Voldemort himself taught them all the dangers of existing solely in an echo chamber?

"As for the matter of my voting record, as Sir MacMillan points out, my family has been serving wizarding Britain since before the days of Arthur and Merlín. So, please, tell me - when did dissent become synonymous with disloyalty? When did holding differing political principles become tantamount to treason? Are we not better and stronger for our diversity and differences? I believe in fiscal responsibility, and I do not support government encroachment on personal freedoms, no matter the reason. I am an old man, and I have seen the atrocities the establishment is capable of perpetrating in the name of fighting the enemy and battling the dark. It makes You-Know-Who's tactics look like child's play in comparison. I will never vote to allow Aurors to use Unforgivables, and I will not apologize for it. Adherence to the basic principles of human decency is what separates us from our enemies; to forget this is to forget ourselves."

Fergus MacMillan shot to his feet, unable to listen to another word from the decrepit hypocrite's mouth. "If you think any of us believe for one second that you voted to defang the DMLE for "altruistic" reasons—"

"Sir MacMillan, I kindly ask that you take your seat, or I will have no choice but to eject from this chamber," Dumbledore warned. He did not sound amused.

This seemed to have the desired effect, for the middle-aged blond sat back down in shock, clearly not expecting the rebuke from the Chief Warlock.

"You may proceed, Lord Avery," the Headmaster granted in an uncharacteristically conciliatory tone.

"Thank you," the dark-eyed Earl stated, acknowledging the Chair with a regal bow. "If I may take but a few more minutes of your time, I would like to close by addressing the utterly baseless charges levied against me earlier. Sir MacMillan claimed, but offered no proof, that I was an unmarked spy for the Dark Lord, passing privileged information in support of You-Know-Who. He even went so far as to say I'd been taken into Auror custody for my alleged crimes, before being released on my own recognizance without even a slap on the wrist. As I am sure Madam Bones can give further testimony to, that is all patently false. I have never received so much as an unauthorized apparition citation, much less been arrested for treason. I have also never had any affiliation or affinity with You-Know-Who's organization or even the smallest stirrings of sympathy for his destructive cause. To my knowledge, I have had very few dealings with any deatheaters, including those who may once have been able to lay claim to familial ties with my House. All four of those individuals were disowned and removed from the embrace of the Avery family Magic as soon as they enslaved themselves to that mad-man, including the one involved in the death of your son. At the time of his heinous act, he was no more my kin than he was yours."

Like the exceptional rhetorical speaker Avery had turned out to be, he let the implications of his last statement marinate in the pregnant silence of the chamber before continuing, "Of course, like any citizen, I am sick at the thought of what he and the others did in the name of their false Lord, and I am sorry for your loss. Indeed, it is because I can only assume your overwhelming grief has caused you to take leave of your senses that I will excuse this indecent and unwarranted defamation of my person. However, I cannot guarantee I will be so understanding in the future. Having searched my conscience, I cannot contend that I have always been right or wise, but I can say without a doubt that I have faithfully attempted to serve the realm and the people of wizarding Britain with the utmost dignity and integrity, so I swear, so mote it be."

It had been a masterful performance, and Harry found himself begrudgingly admiring the elderly wizard for his eloquence and poise. Furthermore, if even half of what he had said was true - which, given he'd sworn a magical oath to that effect, seemed a reasonable assumption- Lord Avery was perhaps not quite the Voldemort acolyte he'd assumed. He came across, admittedly by calculated design, as an elder statesman and dedicated public servant. It had certainly been an educational afternoon so far.

Seizing the opportunity afforded by the stunned calm, Dumbledore addressed the chamber, "I believe we have reached an appropriate stopping point, so I move we break for lunch and recess until 3pm. Are there any objections?" MacMillan seemed to be considering trying to continue his fight, but in the end, he opted to remain silent. "As there are no objections, it is ordered that this debate be now adjourned till this day at three o'clock." With one more bang of the gavel, most members clustered into groups and made their way out of the room. Harry was quite happy to see Lady Longbottom marching across the chamber toward him and doubly pleased when Lord Muldoon offered to accompany them again. He needed all the help he could get since he could see that the vultures were already circling.

*************************

2 August 1998 - Archives- Ministry of Magic - London- 2:04pm

"I still can't believe that you've never been here before," Ted remarked to Remus after they'd picked up their access cards from the reception desk. "I would have thought an avowed academic like yourself would have practically lived here after Hogwarts," the jovial blonde teased.

"I didn't even know they let private citizens search through these files," Remus revealed, amazement creeping into his tone. Ted couldn't help but smile. His companion looked like a kid in a candy store.

"Well, I mean, obviously you have to file an application, which has to be approved by the Ministry; and they're a bit controlling about what you are allowed to make copies of during your visit, but I've always found their medical archives to be well-organized, if a bit disturbing."

"So, where do you want me to start?" Remus asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of sifting through reams of musty parchment and collating centuries of data.

Shaking his head at another clear Hogwart's mis-sort, Ted cast a muffliato and replied, "Now that we've narrowed down the likely catalyst for your new symptoms as the spell you were hit with at the Battle of Hogsmeade, and we've examined your memories along with the eye-witness testimony that's been published about the effect that spell had on dementors and other wizards in the area, I want you to gather anything you can find about the use of purification spells or rituals in treating debilitating curses. It doesn't matter what kind of curse or if the treatment was ultimately successful. I am going to pull some of the case files detailing medical experiments conducted on werewolves, vampires, or victims of other blood-based curses, as well as any information available on historical remedies and therapies used on individuals with those conditions."

Ted stopped for a moment, eyeing the scarred man he had come to consider a close friend over the last month. "Some of this isn't going to be very pleasant reading, I'm afraid. Just like muggle medical science, magical healing ethics and techniques have come a long way since the 1700s," he admitted hesitantly, gauging the Lycanthrope's reaction.

"Don't worry, I wasn't expecting rainbows and unicorns," Remus responded wryly. Switching gears, he inquired, "Will there be much material on purification?" The Werewolf sounded skeptical.

"I imagine there will be a whole section here in the archives dedicated to the practice. Do you remember when the muggle answer to any health or mental issue was bloodletting and leeches? Well, magical healing circles went through a similar phase with purification rituals and spells. They were all the rage about a hundred years ago, but, over time, increased regulations and the Ministry's strict limits on ritual magic caused these types of treatments to fall out of favor with reputable healers. And, while the class of spells and potions developed to simulate the effects of these rituals were in use a bit longer, this entire category of therapies was eventually banned and labeled as 'dark.'"

"Fascinating," Remus pronounced. "And you're sure we won't er...get in trouble for researching this?"

"I'm positive," Ted assured the other wizard. "It isn't illegal to study these things, just to perform them. An entire term of one of my healing courses in school focused on rituals. It's actually a pretty common practice for healers, Potions masters, and even curse breakers to study ancient rituals in an attempt to replicate their beneficial effects without the costs inherent to ritual magic. Plus, I've made requests for a wide enough range of material that, at most, they'll be able to tell that we're researching all possible treatments for a variety of debilitating curses. Since that is precisely what I wrote on the archive application form, it should be fine. Trust me, a healers' license gets me a lot of leeway, that, and the fact that I was a Hufflepuff in school. I always make sure to wear something to denote my old house affiliation when I'm up to any mischief. No one suspects a Badger," Ted stated with a grin.

"That's positively Slytherin of you!" Remus accused, sounding more impressed than appalled.

"Well, I have been married to Andromeda for more than 25 years, I was bound to pick up a thing or two," he joked.

Before the two men went their separate ways to search for information on their respective topics, Remus taught Ted a handy indexing and locator spell used by academics and librarians, "This is amazing!" Ted declared enthusiastically, mentally cutting the time they would need to spend in the archives by half. "I really wish I'd known this spell when I was in medical school. Where'd you learn it?"

"I know people," the Werewolf answered cryptically, chuckling at the larger wizard's huff.

"You know, Remus, we've never talked about the fact that you are dating my only daughter," Ted commented in a calculated tone.

The last Marauder paled, suddenly appreciating the benefit of retreating to fight another day. "I should go get those files now," he said, practically running around the corner and out of the Hufflepuff's direct line of sight. He could hear Ted's hearty laughter ringing in the aisle behind him. It may not have been the most Gryffindor thing he'd ever done, but that was one conversation he wasn't ready to have yet. Not without talking to Dora first, and alcohol, lots of alcohol.

When the wizards reconvened at the table they'd claimed in the corner of the stacks, they both tacitly agreed not to mention Remus' love life. The next two hours were spent in companionable silence, with the scratching of quills and the occasionally muttered comment, question, or copying spell the only interruptions. Pleased with their discoveries and satisfied that they had made sufficient progress in their investigation, Ted suggested they call it a day. "I think we have everything we need from here."

Remus blinked in surprise, "You've figured it out?"

"There are still several research avenues I want to explore further, but I believe the Potter Library will be a better source for those materials," Ted responded, side-stepping the question. "Are you still keeping the journal?"

"Of course," the younger wizard replied.

"Excellent! I want you to come to my office next week, after the full moon, so we can delineate the most significant changes you've experienced and discuss our findings and what they mean for our next steps. We identified several very promising leads today," the healer shared with a smile, patting the other wizard on the back as they collected their notes and prepared to leave. "I have a really good feeling about this."

"I hope you are right," Remus said, daring to allow himself some hope for the first time in years.

*************************

2 August 1998 - Wizengamot Chamber- Ministry of Magic- London - 3:00pm

Harry was very happy to be back in the session, as the lunch break had been hectic. Even with Augusta and Liam serving as formidable deterrents to any casual approach, it seemed everyone, from reporters to politicians, had wanted a piece of him. And, honestly, if the members of the press corps camped outside the chamber had been shouting questions to him about his political priorities, maybe he would spoken with one or two of them; but as always, the interests of Britain's magical media outlets were more personal and prurient.

Albus Dumbledore had returned to his podium following the recess in much higher spirits than before. Indeed, he looked like the proverbial kneazle who ate the canary, which made Harry nervous on principle.

Banging his gavel to re-open the sitting, the Chief Warlock declared, "I remind the Wizengamot that before we broke for lunch we were preparing for the final attestation of candidates for the four vacant life peer seats. During the recess, and in accordance with the Wizengamot Disqualification Act of 1775 and the Representation of the People Act of 1881, the legislative staff of this body made contact with each candidate to ascertain their willingness to stand for election. On the basis of these communications, I must request that the clerk amend the nominations board before its certification and formalization on the ballot. First, Mr. Sebastian Greengrass respectfully declined his nomination, as he does not believe his wedding vows permit him to engage in such a contest against his wife. He did note in his letter humbly thanking this august body for considering him for such a prestigious honor that he believed Mrs. Agnes Greengrass would admirably fulfill the duties of the position. Wizarding Wireless personality Delilah Carmichael has also respectfully declined her nomination, as she did not believe she could faithfully discharge her duties as a member of the free press while also holding a post in the government. She was tremendously flattered, but could not in good conscience accept at this time. Finally, famed quidditch star and World Cup Winner Darrien O'Hare requested his name be withdrawn from consideration on account of his declining health. You will find the full text of each of these letters in the back of your voting books. Sir Davies, are these changes reflected on the board?"

"Aye, Chief Warlock, let the record show that candidates Sebastian Greengrass, Delilah Carmichael, and Darrien O'Hare have been struck from the list at their own behest."

"Thank you, Sir Davies. I move that the sponsors confirm their nominations as a precondition to further debate and voting, which shall commence immediately following the attestations."

Amelia Bones rose from her seat, "I second the motion."

"It is moved and seconded that sponsors shall attest to their nominations, after which members will debate and vote upon the candidates. By a show of hands, all those in favor? Opposed?"

No one disagreed, but Harry noted that Fergus MacMillan had abstained. There hadn't been time to talk about the Ministry employee's antics during the break, since they had nominees to sort and party politics to explain, but Harry was very interested in hearing what Augusta thought about the whole thing and what it might mean for Dumbledore and the Progressive bloc. Harry had his own theories about it; specifically, that Amos Diggory might be persuaded to jump on the bandwagon, which could lead to a splintering of the faction.

"The motion is carried," Dumbledore announced. "Sir Davies, you have the floor."

"Lords and Ladies, Honorable Members of the Wizengamot, as no sponsor has nominated more than one candidate, it remains only for us to confirm with these sponsors that they continue to support the placement of their nominees on the ballot." Harry wondered how often a member had buyers' remorse, maybe if a faction feared a plurality of candidates would dilute their vote to a detrimental degree? Regardless, today at least, every candidate was confirmed.

Harry looked toward the front of the room, quite interested to see how the voting would play out given that even Lady Longbottom hadn't been entirely certain about the method the chair would use to handle the ballots given the large number of vacancies to fill. Dumbledore performed a rather complicated bit of magic, and Harry felt the voting book in his robe pocket vibrate as it had done when the warding reports and withdrawal letters had been added. "Members will find basic biographies for each candidate in their books to inform and help aid discussion. I also have the usual preliminary announcements. Don't knowingly and deliberately mislead your peers on the merits or lack of a given candidate, keep debate civil, and limit yourselves to comments relating to candidates' capabilities and suitability for office. I am not going to impose a formal time limit at this stage, but to get everybody in, Members should keep their remarks to four minutes or less. Further, given the large number of candidates, I ask for no more than one speaker in favor and one speaker against each one, unless an extension of the debate is requested by the chamber. To start us off, I call on Sir Amos Diggory."

"It is an honour to serve under your chairmanship, Chief Warlock."

"Kiss Arse," Harry heard someone in the row in front of him mutter. It was an utterance that so unexpectedly mirrored his own thoughts, he almost laughed. Harry agreed there was nothing particularly honorable about picking one of your own loyalists to begin the debate.

"I would like to speak today in favor of the candidate I sponsored: Tilden Toots. Mr. Toots received more independent nominations than any other candidate on the board today, because he is precisely the kind of renaissance wizard that should be a member of this body. As the popular host of 'Shoots and Roots,' he has demonstrated not only the kind of deep academic expertise in the fields of herbology and potions that is a hallmark of many of our lifetime peers, past and present, but also an inimitable understanding and compassion for his fellow man that the Wizarding world deserves in its legislators and judges," the proud Ministry employee concluded.

Harry had to admit it was a reasonably compelling plea. Though he had never listened to the man's show, it was obviously hugely popular, since nearly half of the chamber had submitted his name for consideration. He thought it quite likely that the quirky radio personality would win a seat. He could see that Claudin Burke was considering speaking against Toots' candidacy, but he eventually seemed to have decided that trashing a well-loved national figure would only end up backfiring on him at some later date.

"Sir Ogden," Dumbledore called, recognizing the long-serving fire-whiskey baron.

"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak to you today. We have many fine candidates from which to choose, but I would like to take a moment to extol the virtues of Mr. Hamish MacFarlan. I've known Hamish for more than 40 years, and I think he embodies several qualities that would make him a huge asset to this chamber and by extension the magical citizens of Britain. From his captaincy of the Montrose Magpies in the 60's to his strong leadership at the Ministry's Department Of Magical Games and Sports, to his charity work with disadvantaged children around the globe even in retirement, he has always conducted himself with the utmost honor and integrity and inspired the same of those around him. He has been an ambassador for his sport and magical Britain for decades, earning our oft-maligned country accolades in the international arena and bringing investments to our shores when many in the ICW and beyond wanted to censure us for our internal fighting and discriminatory practices. He has always had Britain's best interests at heart, which is frankly more than I can say for many of us, so let's vote Mr. MacFarlan onto the Wizengamot. He will help us get things done in spite of ourselves, so we can truly make the most of our hard-won peace."

If it had been permissible to clap in the chamber, Harry would have. As it was, he joined in the round of table-banging that had been started by MacFarlan's sponsor, Brian Ollerton.

Putting an end to the rambunctious shows of support, Dumbledore raised his hand, "May I again ask Members to conduct themselves with more decorum and be more succinct in their addresses?" Dumbledore scolded.

"Stuff it in your pipe and smoke it, you old goat!" a member of the gallery yelled. Augusta looked like Yule had come early. Harry was just shocked that the public audience wasn't behind a silencing charm.

"There will be order, or I will clear the gallery, is that understood?" Dumbledore demanded imperiously.

The debate continued without further interruptions. Most people spoke in favor of their candidates, though there were a few hatchet jobs thrown in the mix. For example, elected member Fiona Appleby, a quidditch player turned magical creature activist, gave the chamber a brutal run-down of all the innocent creatures upon which Felicia Tugwood tested her cosmetic charms and potions, after Amethyst Brown had finished telling them all how the successful business woman was an inspiration to witches everywhere.

Augusta had worked hard to convince Harry to speak on behalf of Agnes Greengrass, but he wasn't especially comfortable with the idea of addressing the chamber. When she challenged his Gryffindor credentials over his reluctance, Muldoon had stepped in. "For Merlin's sake, woman! He fought the most evil dark bastard in memory in single combat, are you really questioning his bravery?" Needless to say, that hadn't been Lady Longbottom's intent, which is how Harry ended up being the recipient of one of her rare apologies, along with her assurances that either one of them would be willing to speak in his stead.

Deciding he might as well take the plunge, Harry drew a ragged breath and stood to be recognized. "Thank you for affording me the opportunity to speak to you today on behalf of a nominee I know will make an exceptional addition to our ranks. I was initially a bit hesitant to speak to you all, as I have so recently joined you myself. But, I feel so strongly that Mrs. Greengrass will bring much needed skills and perspectives to this body that my love of the magical world and respect for our new-found peace would not allow me to remain silent. You see, I only became personally acquainted with Mrs. Greengrass a short time ago, but her ability to immediately drive to the heart of a problem, carefully consider every side of an issue, and identify and execute solutions, was immediately evident and made hers the first name to come to mind when I was considering potential candidates for a lifetime peer seat. I know I don't have to tell you all that, while the war may be over, we face some very difficult tasks if we are to break magical Britain free from its cycle of stagnation and civil war. We need someone like Agnes Greengrass with us to help us tackle these challenges. Even if you don't know Mrs. Greengrass personally, you are no doubt familiar with her scholarly works. I, for one, think we need a historian to help us analyze the potential consequences of our decisions and prevent us from making the same mistakes we have in the past. I also welcome her recognized expertise on the nature of magic and family magics. Having someone with this knowledge will be incredibly valuable to us as we weigh documents like the warding reports presented by Mr. Gray-Nicolls earlier today or when we review any number of judicial matters. I will be voting for Mrs. Greengrass today, and I hope you will join me."

Many members waved their order papers and shouted, "hear, hear," in support of his words, which he suspected had a lot more to do with his obscene fame than any particular oratorical skill or eloquence. Either way, he'd done what he set out to do, and hoped that he'd won over a few people on the process.

"Order. I again draw Members' attention to the fact that we are overrunning. The time limit has been voluntary up to now, but we need to be fair to one another. If people persist in making excessive speeches, I will have to impose one," Dumbledore reminded them. This admonishment was met with a surprising amount of derision, with several rowdier, or at least more anti-Dumbledore, members actually going so far as to boo him.

"Rise to a question of privilege," Augusta Longbottom called out. The audience in the gallery quieted. They were like sharks who smelled blood in the water.

"State your question of privilege," the Chief Warlock said wearily, knowing a point made at his expense was certainly to follow.

"You opened the debate with a member of your own political faction, and you have permitted a disproportionate number of Progressives to speak," she accused, ticking off his transgressions one by one on her fingers. "Furthermore, I find it very suspect that you have now repeatedly harangued members from outside your political faction about their speaking times, while saying nothing to any member of the Progressive party, despite the fact that Lord Cavendish's speech about Freesia Burberry was twice as long as any other today and revealed more about his view's on the brilliance of her Spring design collection than any skills she might bring to bear as a legislator! You are clearly incapable of acting as an impartial chair, and I will make a motion to have you removed from office if you don't stop antagonizing your political opponents and showing overt favoritism to your political allies. You are the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, so start acting like it!"

The reaction in the chamber was overwhelming, though there were nearly as many people angered by her audacity as there were celebrating her victory and sharing her righteous indignation. Taking it all in stride, Dumbledore called for order. It required several attempts to quell the riot. "I am afraid I find your point to be without merit and suggest that perhaps it is you who is so blinded by your partisanship that you can't see the facts right in front of you," he replied with maddening calm. The audience shifted. Would she finally call him out? Who would she ask to serve as her second?

Despite her anger, she chose not to appeal the chair's decision to the body, even though she could surely have secured at least 15 votes to second her motion. After all, they still had at least three votes to conduct this afternoon, and it wasn't getting any earlier. Still, if he thought he could brazenly flaunt the rules and then attack her when she called him on it without consequences, he was even more delusional than she had previously thought. He'd better enjoy that gavel while he could, because, if she had anything to say about it, his days as Chief Warlock were numbered.

"In consideration for the other items on the agenda, I move we close debate," proposed Baroness Clagg.

"I second the motion," pronounced Lionel Fawcett.

"The motion to close debate and vote immediately has been posed and seconded. All those in favor say, 'aye," the headmaster paused to listen to the response; it was nearly universal. All those opposed vote, say 'no.' Only two members wanted to continue debating. "The motion carries. Voting to fill the lifetime peer seats will commence immediately."

Dumbledore requested that Sir Davies approach the dais, they were no doubt discussing the voting logistics. Would different candidates run against one another in groups? Would everyone vote for their four favorite candidates? Would they vote in rounds? He had no idea.

"Lords and Ladies, Honorable Members, we propose the following voting procedures. Each member will vote for their top four candidates by secret roll-call ballot. You may not vote for any candidate more than once, you may not split your votes, if you have more than one, and you may not vote for more than four candidates. The four candidates who have the most votes at the end of the voting period will be declared the provisional winners of those seats. Between this session and the next, the member-elects will go through a suitability review. Provided these individuals pass that review, they will be sworn in during the Mabon Session on September 24th."

Everyone agreed on the proposed voting process, and so, four specially charmed parchments were distributed to each member by Wizengamot runners. The debate had impacted Harry's choices, as he now intended to vote for Hamish MacFarlan, as well as Agnes Greengrass and Florean Fortescue. He was having trouble deciding whether to vote for Wenlock, Malkin, or Flourish for his final vote; and to be honest, he'd found the cases made for Ariana Lufkin, Tilden Toots, and Alev Wildsmith convincing as well.

Taking a minute to consider what each of the remaining candidates would bring to the chamber, he started eliminating people. Even though it was hard to do, he decided that if he were going to vote for Fortescue, he should rule out Malkin and Flourish. Florean had the Diagon Alley business angle covered, and he wasn't necessarily prepared to award the already powerful lobbying group any more voices in the Wizengamot.

Wildsmith was a bit of a wildcard; more of an inventor than an entrepreneur, despite the small floo powder shop on the Alley. No one ever answered the door, so it was hardly a business in the traditional sense. However, upon reflection, part of Wildsmith's appeal for him as a candidate was the possibility of gaining some expertise on magical transportation in the chamber. But, Alev was really an expert on floo powder, not the floo network.

Lufkin was a political legacy, but she had done quite a bit of work with orphanages and trying to build a more standardized pre-Hogwarts education system in the magical world; two things Harry felt rather strongly about. The fact that MacMillan had nominated her was a drawbrack, but she did appear to be very dedicated to public service.

Then there was Toots, who seemed like an all around highly educated and lovely human. So, despite his initial thoughts and mild revulsion over the fact that the herbologist had his own radio show, he now understood the broad appeal.

Finally, Wenlock was great, but she was already an elected member. He was attracted to her as a candidate because of her Arithmamcy background, but he hadn't really studied her voting record in any great depth. He vowed to do that before the next session, so that if any other peer seats opened up in the future, he would be fully prepared.

Decision made, he scribbled Ariana Lufkin's name on his last piece of parchment and signaled a runner. It was done, and he felt good about it.

Now all he had to do was wait for the tally.

*************************

2 August 1998 - Ministry Archives- Ministry of Magic- London - 5:20pm

Elspeth Higgins suppressed a shudder when she looked up from her desk to see an Unspeakable peering down at her from behind its mask. The voice modification and obscuring charms built into the grey cloaks of their uniforms made it impossible for her to tell if the one standing before her was male or female. It might not even have been human for all she knew. The figures always seemed to appear out of thin air, disappearing just as quickly, almost melting into the background, as quiet and insubstantial as wraiths. They gave her the creeps.

"May I help you?" she asked politely.

"Did you receive any.. interesting research requests today?" It questioned, its slight emphasis on the word interesting in its distorted voice caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Every few weeks, usually when she'd had a particularly busy day, one of the grey cloaks would show up and make inquiries about her patrons. The timing of their visits made her strongly suspect that the Unspeakables had some kind of access to the archive applications.

Now, Elspeth was a distinctively incurious soul. She processed the paperwork people presented her and shelved materials when required, but she held very little personal interest in the research habits of others. Indeed, she had never once even considered perusing the vast stores of knowledge contained within the archives for either enjoyment or edification. This made her a poor human intelligence asset for the secretive department. "Well, we had a Healer in earlier today. I gathered from his robes that he had been a Hufflepuff in school. He had a younger man with him, a researcher from St. Mungos, I believe. Anyway, they were looking at historical treatments for different curses."

Mostly dismissive of the information, because there was nothing particularly...mysterious about a Hufflepuff Healer from Mungos researching diseases and cures, the Unspeakable still felt compelled to cover his bases and ask, "Any particular curse?"

"No, they looked at files on a bunch of different ones, though most of them seemed pretty serious, usually fatal."

"Anything else?"

Elspeth smiled, something people rarely had cause to do in the presence of one of his kind. "Just a little bit ago I had a bloke in here doing research on time turners. He was definitely the shifty sort," she added.

"Oh?" Now that was more like it! "I need this man's name, just to ensure his interest in the subject remains theoretical, you understand."

"Here you go," the file clerk said, offering the menacing form a slip of parchment.

Abruptly taking his leave, the Unspeakable read the name on the paper: "Warren Bentley." Heading directly to the basement, all thoughts of the Healer and his assistant fled his mind. He had information to gather and a wizard to investigate. No unauthorized personnel would be allowed to mettle with time on his watch! He needed to see Croaker immediately.

*************************

2 August 1998 - Wizengamot Chamber- Ministry of Magic- London - 5:45pm

"Clerk Davies, have you counted the votes?"

"I have, Chief Warlock"

"Do you have the names of the four candidates who received the most votes? "

"I do not," replied the somber Sir Tristan. Confusion reigned around the room.

"Would you care to elaborate?" Dumbledore prompted.

"The candidate receiving the highest total number of votes was Agnes Greengrass. Hamish MacFarlan came in second in the count, and Florean Fortescue received the third highest number of votes. There are two candidates, however, who tied for fourth place: Tilden Toots and Ariana Lufkin, each of whom received 30 votes."

"According to the rules of this chamber, we must conduct an immediate run-off vote. Pages, please provide every member with another ballot parchment."

Harry voted for Lufkin again, but he wasn't confident of her chances in a head-to-head battle against the popular Toots.

Less than 20 minutes later, Sir Davies indicated he had results. "The race between the two candidates was again very close, but Ariana Lufkin just edged out Tilden Toots by a vote of 44 to 36."

"Thank you. We haven't had such a riveting race in this chamber in some time. Congratulations to our winners. And now, we must move to the next order of business: the nominations of individuals to stand for the two elected seats left vacant by the deaths of Miles Baddock and Amycus Carrow this past June. As you know, in contrast to those selected for lifetime appointments, these nominations will be made by party caucus. Each caucus is, of course, permitted to nominate one individual for each vacant seat. Non-aligned candidates may also be placed on the ballot provided they receive the required number of signatures petitioning for their inclusion by September 1st. The general election will be held on Monday, September 21st. For those of you who do not have a party affiliation on record, would you like to declare one now? Be advised that those who do not have a formal affiliation may, with a faction's permission, still caucus with a party for the purposes of this nomination process, even if that member remains independent," Dumbledore informed them before signaling to the clerk to call on the newly sworn members who had yet to register their political associations.

"Lord Potter, we shall begin with you. Do you wish to record an alliance with one of the Wizengamot's political factions at this time?"

Harry stood to make his formal declaration. "I do. As the Potter and Black seats have historically held opposing political views, I feel it is most appropriate for me to align with the Neutral Bloc."

As the Clerk confirmed his formal registration as a member of the Neutral faction, Dumbledore stood behind his podium doing his disappointed grandfather impression. Since Harry had decided several months ago that Dumbledore's approval mattered even less to him than the Dursleys' did, it was all water off a Hippogriff's back.

"Sir Randolph Spudmore, will you be announcing a formal alliance with a political party?"

"I will," the Firebolt designer replied, still sounding exceptionally nervous about speaking in public. "I also wish to align with the Neutral faction."

"Let the record show that Sir Spudmore is now registered as a member of the Neutral party," announced the clerk before moving to the three others who had been sworn in the previous evening.

"Allegra Hamblin, you ran as a candidate for the Progressive faction, would you like to formalize that affiliation today?"

"I would," she responded simply, retaking her seat as the clerk moved to Calogreant Bell, who had also been nominated by the Progressives. He too affirmed his alignment and formally registered as a member of Dumbledore's bloc.

"Finally, Mr. Safir 'Ali. You were a Neutral party candidate. Will you retain that association?"

"I will," the soft-spoken member of Arab descent replied.

"Before the chair announces the break for caucusing, does any member wish to switch their party affiliation?" No one even moved. It was unsurprising that their fledgling efforts to win new allies in the chamber had yet to pay off. Andi and Augusta had both stressed that it was a long game, with immediate results exceedingly rare. Daphne had also explained to him that his goal should be to chip away at the margins. Formally changing factions was a grand gesture, but getting members to cross party lines when voting was just as valuable and twice as achievable. After all, an incremental victory still counted as a win.

"30 minutes will be allotted to members within each caucus to select their candidates for the vacant elected seats. You may now break for discussion."

Harry stood, hoping Lord Muldoon would tell him where he was supposed to go. Noticing his somewhat confused expression, Liam smiled and gestured for him to stay where he was. "We'll be coming to you today, Your Grace," he explained, "go ahead and sit back down." Casting a sonorous, which earned him several dirty looks from members of the other groups, the Irishman called out to the chamber, "Oy! We're meeting over here, you lot. Hurry up!"

Harry was relieved to see that no one appeared too disgruntled about having to traipse across the room, and indeed, several members, such as Garrick Ollivander, seemed rather pleased about being able to remain in their seats.

The Neutral faction had 20 members present in the chamber, wielding a total of 43 votes. This was more than half of the total available votes at the Wizengamot's current strength, though that would change at the next session. They occupied fully half of the hereditary and lifetime peer seats, but they held only five of the elected seats. The Neutral faction needed to field competitive candidates in the upcoming general election.

Now that everyone had arrived, Liam Muldoon opened the discussions. "Okay, who are we thinking?"

"What about Madam Malkin? She was just outside the cut line for a lifetime peer seat, and she has strong name recognition," suggested Hector Fawley.

"Bulstrode was the one who nominated her before, though, won't the Traditional faction choose her to represent them on the ballot?" inquired Brian Ollerton.

"Do you honestly think Cordelia Malkin would agree to run as a Traditionalist?" Demanded Griselda Marchbanks.

"Er...no I suppose not," the CEO of CleanSweep Brooms admitted sheepishly.

"Plus," added Augusta, "in a general election they only care about motivating their base, rather than gaining broad support in the chamber. Trust me, left to their own devices, they'll pick someone truly reprehensible who speaks more to their little black hearts."

"Augusta!" chided Viscount Lindsay, one of their faction's biggest Traditionalist sympathizers, "there's no need to malign our colleagues."

"I know I don't need to," she responded impetuously, "I just like to. It keeps me young."

"Okay, children," Amelia Bones scolded them. "Let's take a vote on Madam Malkin. All in favor of making her one of our candidates, raise your hand." 18 out of 20 hands shot up immediately, including Harry's. "Right them, Cordelia will be one of our nominees. What about the other? Do you have someone in mind, Devlin?" the DMLE Director asked. The creator of the Nimbus broom series had been one of the two who hadn't supported the clothier.

"I think we should select someone with ties to quidditch. A former player will be very popular with the electorate. I was thinking Kevin Broadmore," Whitehorn proposed.

"Are you sure he hasn't taken a few too many bludgers to the head?" The last thing we need is another Bagman fiasco," stated Tiberius Ogden firmly.

"He's in control of all of his faculties, isn't a philanderer, and he doesn't have a gambling habit," Whitehorn confirmed.

"That's hardly a ringing endorsement. Does he have all his teeth, too?" asked Selises Tande sarcastically.

"Well, er, no...he did play professional quidditch for more than a decade, but he has most of them, I'm sure."

"Fine. All those in favor of Broadmore?" Only three members stood for the former chaser. "Okay, who else?"

"What about Urion Flourish?" mused Percival Gamp.

Before Harry could stop himself, he voiced the concern that had prevented him from supporting the man in the earlier election. "I think nominating Mr. Flourish alongside Madam Malkin might be unwise. Please don't misunderstand me, they're both admirable individuals and fine pillars of our community. However, because they are also both Diagon Alley business owners, people might be hesitant of over-empowering one sector of our society, and might therefore view them as an either/or proposition, which would split the votes going to our candidates. And, if that happens, both of them might lose."

"That's a good point," acknowledged Gamp thoughtfully. Harry was slightly offended that the Transfiguration Master sounded so surprised.

"Come on, people, we have like seven minutes left to pick someone. Any other ideas?"

"I know, Thomas Boot!" exclaimed Regina Clagg. "He's a retired Auror, and he served on the Statute of Secrecy Task Force at the ICW for 8 years."

"All those in favor, raise your hands," requested Muldoon, who Harry speculated, based on his actions today and the things the others had said, was the nominal leader of their political faction. It was closer than the vote on Malkin, but 12 was still a majority. "It looks like Thomas Boot will be our second candidate; well done, team. But now, since we're all here and have a few minutes, what are you thinking about the emergency spending request?"

"I think it's outrageous that they are asking the Ministry to pay to upgrade their wards," complained Clegis Fairbourne. "What have they been using their Business Association dues to pay for!? Solid Gold toilet seats? Private dueling lessons with Lockhart?" A laugh escaped from Harry's mouth before he could stifle it.

"My apologies," he said, "it's just...Gilderoy Lockhart is a rather pathetic duelist, so the idea that someone would actually pay for his instruction struck me as amusing."

"I wonder what he's doing these days, he hasn't written a new book in years," commented Safir 'Ali.

Feeling rather as though he'd been saved by the bell, or, in this case, the gavel, Dumbledore called for the dissolution of the caucuses before Harry could be faced with any more awkward questions about his former Defense against the Dark Arts professor.

"Sir Burke, who will the Traditionalist faction put on the Mabon ballot?"

"Avigdor Chang And Petrus Pridgeon"

"Thank you. Sir Abbot, the Progressive candidates, if you would?"

"Tilden Toots and Arthur Weasley."

Harry was pleasantly surprised to hear Ron's dad would be running, and new political bloc aside, Harry would probably vote for him.

"Last but not least, Lord Muldoon, who will the Neutral Faction be putting on the ballot on September 21st?"

"We nominate Cordelia Malkin and Thomas Boot," the Baron replied on behalf of the party.

"The last order of business today is a discussion and vote on the emergency funding request for updates on Diagon Alley's wards," Dumbledore revealed, after consulting his Order Paper. "Who would like to speak in favor of the appropriation?" Amelia Bones caught Dumbledore's eye, and he called on the DMLE director to speak.

"Honorable Members, while I agree with many of you that the Diagon Alley association should bear some up the cost for the upgrades, I can state unequivocally that if the Statute of Secrecy is in danger of being violated, the Ministry must become involved. Preserving the Statute was one of the main drivers for the establishment of the Ministry, and even today, many of our primary functions center around maintaining our separation from the Muggle World. During the recess, I pulled several old records on the wards surrounding the Leaky Cauldron and the entrace to the shopping district. It seems that they were initially laid on public lands and at the Ministry's expense. Therefore, the Ministry should at the very least fund the renewal and upgrade of the wards designed to keep muggles out of the shopping area and those located in places classified as public property. It is the Ministry who will be fined and sanctioned by the ICW if we have a breach of the Statute, not an individual or a business. It is in our own interest, but more importantly, our responsibility, to do as Mr. Gray-Nicholls suggested and view this is a joint public-private initiative. This is a matter of both public safety and national security."

"I am grateful to my honorable friend, Madam Bones, for making such an excellent point," stated the Baron de Ros, "but I must inquire as to how the DMLE's budget will cover these costs. And, if that budget is insufficient, where it is that she believes these funds should come from?"

"If I may?" Amelia asked the Chair, who gestured for her to respond to Maxwell's question. "In 1995, near the beginning of our recent conflict, the DMLE requested and was granted by this very chamber additional monies for the purposes of fighting the war. As of this month, not all of those funds have been spent. I propose we mobilse the contigency margin and append this appropriations ear-mark to our current budget in order to meet these unanticipated security challenges. This redeployment of funds should allow us to tackle this problem without requiring an increase in taxes or cuts to other programs, either within the DMLE or the Ministry at large. I further propose, that once we have an estimate on the cost of the warding upgrades, we determine what the cost to the Ministry will be, and set aside funding in future budgets to enable us to maintain these wards on the proper schedule going forward."

Harry was curious to see if any member would gainsay Madam Bones. It would be difficult to make a case against her proposal that didn't just sound petulant or foolish. She had explained why the Ministry was not only financially responsible for some of the wards in the district, but why it would be criminally negligent for the Wizengamot to try to abdicate these responsibilities. She had also presented them with a ready-made fiscal solution in the form of funding they had already allocated but hadn't yet used, and, due to the end of the war, should no longer be needed for the purposes it was inititally intended.

"I move to close the debate," Lady Longbottom announced.

"I second the motion," declared Sir Ollivander.

"The motion to close the debate and vote immediately on the proposal to use previously allocated war funding to cover the Ministry's portion of the costs for upgrading the failing wards in Diagon Alley has been raised and seconded. All those in favor say, 'aye,'" Dumbledore instructed. It sounded like a majority, but it was a bit hard for Harry to tell for sure. "All those against say, 'no.'" There were a number of opponents, but most had still voted in favor of granting the emergency assistance request and paying for it from the Ministry's war chest.

"The Motion has carried," the Chief Warlock announced. "I move to postpone the consideration of the specifics as well as the matter of future funding until the Mabon session next month. The legislative staff will ensure that additional reports, expert testimony, and several competitive bids for the work will be completed before the start of the session and available for members to review and debate within the next 6 weeks."

"I second the motion," pronounced Brunor Abbott. Several minutes later, the motion to postpone further consideration until Mabon was passed unanimously.

"Is there any new business for this chamber to consider?" Someone had obviously had a chat with MacMillan over the break, as no one rose to speak. "As we finished the items on the Lammas agenda, I move we call this session to a close and adjourn until 10:00am on 24 September 1998." The motion was eagerly seconded and carried. With that, Harry's first full session as a member of the Wizengamot was finally over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers: GrogMcLeod, PapillonMagique, ShaeVizla, and linuxrocs. You all left very nice comments, and I really appreciate it. Thanks also to PrettyLittleDwarfWoman, IrDA, ShaeVizla, Tigerpan, AvadaGreenEyes, KnightGalavant, christinaz13, and a few guests for the new kudos! Thanks also to PrettyLittleDwarfWoman and summer164 for new bookmarks!


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